Ifipwlw 

MiHlnBWiilninHilS 

iwni:! ;l: s kw/m • n&fto 








A\ 

d 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 






' * 



















/ 


AUNT JAN E 
NIECES 


’ S 

/ o % y 


By 

EDITH VAN DYNE \ 

f <***&§ 



CHICAGO 

THE REILLY & BRITTON CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


LIBRARY *♦ congress 
T we Copies Receive# 


SEE 27 1906 



1 




Copyright, 1906, 

BY 

THE REIIvLY & BRITTON CO. 


A LIST OF CHAPTERS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Beth Receives an Invitation 9 

II Mother and Daughter 18 

III Patsy 28 

IV Louise Makes a Discovery 36 

V Aunt Jane 42 

VI The Boy 53 

VII The First Warning 63 

VIII The Diplomat 73 

IX Cousins 81 

X The Man With the Bundle 95 

XI The Mad Gardener 108 

XII Uncle John Gets Acquainted 126 

XIII The Other Niece 140 

XIV Kenneth is Frightened 154 

XV Patsy Meets With an Accident 166 

XVI Good Results 173 

XVII ’Aunt Jane’s Heiress 190 

XVIII Patricia Speaks Frankly 203 

XIX Duplicity 212 

XX In the Garden 223 

XXI Reading the Will 228 

XXII James Tells a Strange Story 238 

XXIII Patsy Adopts an Uncle 248 

XXIV Home Again 257 

XXV Uncle John Acts Queerly 269 

XXVI A Bunch of Keys 280 

XXVII Louise Makes a Discovery 296 

XXVIII Patsy Loses Her Job 304 

XXIX The Major Demands an Explanation 315 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


FROM ORIGINAL PAINTINGS BY 

E. A. NELSON. 

Aunt Jane and Her Nieces .... Frontispiece 
“Then it’s the same Jane as ever” .... 102 
“Have you any money?” 134 

“Once more,” called the girl 170 

Patsey sprang forward and kissed her 

RAPTUROUSLY 220 

Give an account of yourself 320 



s 


CHAPTER I. 


BETH RECEIVES AN INVITATION. 

Professor De Graf was sorting the mail at 
the breakfast table. 

“Here’s a letter for you, Beth,” said he, and 
tossed it across the cloth to where his daughter 
sat. 

The girl raised her eyebrows, expressing sur- 
prise. It was something unusual for her to re- 
ceive a letter. She picked up the square envelope 
between a finger and thumb and carefully read 
the inscription, “Miss Elizabeth De Graf, Clov- 
erton, Ohio.” Turning the envelope she found 
on. the reverse flap a curious armorial emblem, 
with the word “Elmhurst.” 

Then she glanced at her father, her eyes big* 
and somewhat startled in expression. The Pro- 
fessor was 1 deeply engrossed in a letter from Ben- 


9 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

jamin Lowenstein which declared that a certain 
note must be paid at maturity. His weak, watery 
blue eyes stared rather blankly from behind the 
gold-rimmed spectacles. His flat nostrils extended 
and compressed like those of a frightened horse; 
and the indecisive mouth was tremulous. At 
the best the Professor was not an imposing per- 
sonage. He wore, a dressing-gown of soiled 
quilted silk and linen not too immaculate ; but his 
little sandy moustache and the goatee that dco- 
rated his receding chin were both carefully waxed 
into sharp points — an indication that he possessed 
at least one vanity. Three days in the week he 
taught vocal and instrumental music to the am- 
bitious young ladies of Cloverton. The other 
three days he rode to Pelham’s Grove, ten miles 
away, and taught music to all who wished to ac- 
quire that desirable accomplishment. But the 
towns were small and the fees not large, so that 
Professor De Graf had much difficulty in securing 
an income sufficient for the needs of his family. 

The stout, sour-visaged lady who was halt- 
hidden by her newspaper at the other end of the 
table was also a bread-winner, for shejaught 


io 


"Aunt jane’s nieces. 

embroidery to the women of her acquaintance 
and made various articles of fancy-work that 
were sold at Biggar’s Emporium, the largest 
store in Cloverton. So, between them, the Pro- 
fessor and Mrs. De Graf managed to defray or- 
dinary expenses and keep Elizabeth at school; 
but there were one or two dreadful “notes” that 
were constantly hanging over their heads like the 
sword of Damocles, threatening to ruin them at 
any moment their creditors proved obdurate. 

Finding her father and mother both occupied, 
the girl ventured to open her letter. It was writ- 
ten in a sharp, angular, feminine hand and read 
as follows : 

“My Dear Niece: It will please me to have 
you spend the months of July and August as my 
guest at Elmhurst. I am in miserable health, and 
wish to become better acquainted with you before 
I die. A check for necessary expenses is enclosed 
and I shall expect you to arrive promptly on the 
first of July. 

Your Aunt, 

Jane Merrick.” 


ii 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

A low exclamation from Elizabeth caused her 
father to look in her direction. He saw the bank 
check lying beside her plate and the sight lent an 
eager thrill to his voice. 

“What is it, Beth?” 

“A letter from Aunt Jane.” 

Mrs. De Graf gave a jump and crushed the 
newspaper into her lap. 

“What!” she screamed. 

“Aunt Jane has invited me to spend two 
months at Elmhurst,” said Elizabeth, and passed 
the letter to her mother, who grabbed it excit- 
edly. 

“How big is the check, Beth?” enquired the 
Professor, in a low tone. 

“A hundred dollars. She says it’s for my ex- 
penses. 

“Huh! Of course you won’t go near that 
dreadful old cat, so we can use the money to bet- 
ter advantage.” 

“Adolph!” 

The harsh, cutting voice was that of his wife, 
and the Professor shrank back in his chair. 

“Your sister Jane is a mean, selfish, despicable 


12 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


old female,” he muttered. “You’ve said so a 
thousand times yourself, Julia.” 

My sister Jane is a very wealthy woman, 
and she’s a Merrick,” returned the lady, severely. 

How dare you — a common De Graf — asperse 
her character?” 

“The De Grafs are a very good family,” he 
retorted. 

“Show me one who is wealthy! Show me 
one who is famous!” 

“I can’t,” said the Professor. “But they’re 
decent, and they’re generous, which is more than 
can be said for your tribe.” 

“Elizabeth must go to Elmhurst,” said Mrs. 
De Graf, ignoring her husband’s taunt. 

“She shan’t. Your sister refused to loan me 
fifty dollars last year, when I was in great 
trouble. She hasn’t given you a single cent since 
I married you. No daughter of mine shall go 
to Elmhurst to be bullied and insulted by Jane 
Merrick.” 

“Adolph, try to conceal the fact that you’re a 
fool,” said his wife. “Jane is in a desperate state 
of health, and can’t live very long at the best. I 


13 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

believe she’s decided to leave her money to Eliza- 
beth, or she never would have invited the child 
to visit her. Do you want to fly in the face of 
Providence, you doddering old imbecile?” 

“No,” said the Professor, accepting the 
doubtful appellation without a blush. “How 
much do you suppose Jane is worth?” 

“A half million, at the very least. When she 
was a girl she inherited from Thomas Bradley, 
the man she was engaged to marry, and who was 
suddenly killed in a railway accident, more than 
a quarter of a million dollars, besides that beau- 
tiful estate of Elmhurst. I don’t believe Jane has 
even spent a quarter of her income, and the for- 
tune must have increased enormously. Eliza- 
beth will be one of the wealthiest heiresses in the 
country!” 

“If she gets the money, which I doubt,” 
returned the Professor, gloomily. 

“Why should you doubt it, after this letter?” 

“You had another sister and a brother, and 
they both had children,” said he. 

“They each left a girl, I admit. But Jane has 
never favored them any more than she has me. 


14 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

And this invitation, coming when Jane is practi- 
cally on her death bed, is a warrant that Beth 
will get the money.” 

“I hope she will,” sighed the music teacher. 
“We all need it bad enough, I’m sure.” 

During this conversation Elizabeth, who 
might be supposed the one most interested in her 
Aunt’s invitation, sat silently at her place, eating 
her breakfast with her accustomed calmness of 
demeanor and scarcely glancing at her parents. 

She had pleasant and quite regular features, 
for a girl of fifteen, with dark hair and eyes — the 
“Merrick eyes,” her mother proudly declared — 
and a complexion denoting perfect health and 
colored with the rosy tints of youth. Her figure 
was a bit slim and unformed, and her shoulders 
stooped a little more than was desirable; but in 
Cloverton Elizabeth had the reputation of being 
“a pretty girl,” and a sullen and unresponsive 
one as well. 

Presently she rose from her seat, glanced at 
the clock, and then went into the hall to get her 
hat and school-books. The prospect of being an 




AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


heiress some day had no present bearing on thj 
fact that it was time to start for school. 

Her father came to the door with the check in 
his hand. 

“Just sign your name on the back of this, 
Beth,” said he, “and I’ll get it cashed for you.” 

The girl shook her head. 

“No, father,” she answered. “If I decide to 
go to Aunt Jane’s I must buy some clothes; and if 
you get the money I’ll never see a cent of it.” 

“When will you decide?” he asked. 

“There’s no hurry. I’ll take time to think 
it over,” she replied. “I hate Aunt Jane, of 
course; so if I go to her I must be a hypocrite, 
and pretend to like her, or she never will leave 
me her property. 

“Well, Beth?” 

“Perhaps it will be worth while; but if I go 
into that woman’s house I’ll be acting a living 
lie.” 

“But think of the money!” said her mother. 

“I do think of it. That’s why I didn’t tell you 
at once to send the check back to Aunt Jane. I’m 
going to think of everything before I decide. But 

1 6 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


if I go — if I allow this money to make me a 
hypocrite — I won’t stop at trifles, I assure you. 
It’s in my nature to be dreadfully wicked and 
cruel and selfish, and perhaps the money isn’t 
worth the risk I run of becoming depraved.” 

“Elizabeth !” 

“Good-bye; I’m late now,” she continued, in 
the same quiet tone, and walked slowly down the 
walk. 

The Professor twisted his moustache and 
looked into his wife’s eyes with a half frightened 
glance. 

“Beth’s a mighty queer girl,” he muttered. 

“She’s very like her Aunt Jane,” returned 
Mrs. De Graf, thoughtfully gazing after her 
daughter. “But she’s defiant and wilful enough 
for all the Merricks put together. I do hope she’ll 
decide to go to Elmhurst.” 


1 7 


CHAPTER II. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

In the cosy chamber of an apartment located 
in a fashionable quarter of New York Louise 
Merrick reclined upon a couch, dressed in a dainty 
morning gown and propped and supported by a 
dozen embroidered cushions. 

Upon a taboret beside her stood a box of 
bonbons, the contents of which she occasionally 
nibbled as she turned the pages of her novel. 

The girl had a pleasant and attractive face, 
although its listless expression was singular in one 
so young. It led you to suspect that the short 
seventeen years of her life had robbed her of all 
the anticipation and eagerness that is accustomed 
to pulse in strong young blood, and filled her 
with experiences that compelled her to accept ex- 

18 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

istence in a half bored and wholly matter-of-fact 
way. 

The room was tastefully though somewhat 
elaborately furnished ; yet everything in it seemed 
as fresh and new as if it had just come from the 
shop — which was not far from the truth. The 
apartment itself was new, with highly polished 
floors and woodwork, and decorations undimmed 
by time. Even the girl’s robe, which she wore so 
gracefully, was new, and the books upon the cen- 
ter-table were of the latest editions. 

The portiere was thrust aside and an elderly 
lady entered the room, seating herself quietly at 
the window, and, after a single glance at the form 
upon the couch, beginning to embroider patiently 
upon some work she took from a silken bag. She 
moved so noiselessly that the girl did not hear her 
and for several minutes absolute silence per- 
vaded the room. 

Then, however, Louise in turning a leaf 
glanced up and saw the head bent over the em- 
broidery. She laid down her book and drew an 
open letter from betwen the cushions beside her, 
which she languidly tossed into the other’s lap. 


19 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“Who is this woman, mamma?” she asked. 

Mrs. Merrick glanced at the letter and 
then read it carefully through, before replying. 

“Jane Merrick is your father’s sister,” she 
said, at last, as she thoughtfully folded the letter 
and placed it upon the table. 

“Why have I never heard of her before?” 
enquired the girl, with a slight accession of in- 
terest in her tones. 

“That I cannot well explain. I had supposed 
you knew of your poor father’s sister Jane, al- 
though you were so young when he died that it 
is possible he never mentioned her name in your 
presence. 

“They were not on friendly terms, you know. 
Jane was rich, having inherited a fortune and 
a handsome country place from a young man 
whom she was engaged to marry, but who died 
on the eve of his wedding day.” 

“How romantic!” exclaimed Louise. 

“It does seem romantic, related in this way,” 
replied her mother. “But with the inheritance 
all romance disappeared from your aunt’s life. 
She became a crabbed, disagreeable woman, old 


20 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


before her time and friendless because she sus- 
pected everyone of trying to rob her of her money. 
Your poor father applied to her in vain for assist- 
ance, and I believe her refusal positively shortened 
his life. When he died, after struggling bravely 
to succeed in his business, he left nothing but his 
life-insurance.” 

“Thank heaven he left that!” sighed Louise. 

“Yes; we would have been beggared, indeed, 
without it,” agreed Mrs. Merrick. “Yet I often 
wonder, Louise, how we managed to live upon the 
interest of that money for so many years.” 

“We didn’t live — we existed,” corrected the 
girl, yawning. “We scrimped and pinched, and 
denied ourselves everything but bare necessities. 
And had it not been for your brilliant idea, 
mater dear, we would still be struggling in the 
depths of poverty.” 

Mrs. Merrick frowned, and leaned back in her 
chair. 

“I sometimes doubt if the idea was so bril- 
liant, after all,” she returned, with a certain 
grimness of expression. “We’re plunging, 
Louise ; and it may be into a bottomless pit.” 


21 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Don’t worry, dear,” said the girl, biting into 
a bonbon. “We are only on the verge of our 
great adventure, and there’s no reason to be dis- 
couraged yet, I assure you. Brilliant! Of course 
the idea was brilliant, mamma. The income of 
that insurance money was insignificant, but the 
capital is a very respectable sum. I am just 
seventeen years of age — although I feel that I 
ought to be thirty, at the least — and in three 
years I shall be twenty, and a married woman. 
You decided to divide our capital into three 
equal parts, and spend a third of it each year, this 
plan enabling us to live in good style and to ac- 
quire a certain social standing that will allow me 
to select a wealthy husband. It’s a very brilliant 
idea, my dear! Three years is a long time. I’ll 
find my Croesus long before that, never fear.” 

“You ought to,” returned the mother, 
thoughtfully. “But if you fail, we shall be en- 
tirely ruined.” 

“A strong incentive to succeed.” said Louise, 
smiling. “An ordinary girl might not win out; 
but I’ve had my taste of poverty, and I don’t like 
it. No one will suspect us of being adventurers, 


22 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


for as long as we live in this luxurious fashion we 
shall pay our bills promptly and be proper and 
respectable in every way. The only chance we 
run lies in the danger that eligible young men 
may prove shy, and refuse to take our bait; but 
are we not diplomats, mother dear? We won’t 
despise a millionaire, but will be content with a 
man who can support us in good style, or even in 
comfort, and in return for his money I’ll be a very 
good wife to him. That seems sensible and wise, 
I’m sure, and not at all difficult of accomplish- 
ment.” 

Mrs. Merrick stared silently out of the win- 
dow, and for a few moments seemed lost in 
thought. 

“I think, Louise,” she said at last, “you will 
do well to cultivate your rich aunt, and so have 
two strings to your bow.” 

“You mean that I should accept her queer in- 
vitation to visit her?” 

“Yes.” 

“She has sent me a check for a hundred dol- 
lars. Isn’t it funnv?” 

“Jane was always a whimsical woman. Per- 
23 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


haps she thinks we are quite destitute, and fears 
you would not be able to present a respectable 
appearance at Elmhurst without this assistance. 
But it is an evidence of her good intentions. 
Finding death near at hand she is obliged to se- 
lect an heir, and so invites you to visit her that 
she may study your character and determine 
whether you are worthy to inherit her fortune.” 

The girl laughed, lightly. 

“It will be easy to cajole the old lady,” she 
said. “In two days I can so win her heart that 
she will regret she has neglected me so long.” 

“Exactly.” 

“If I get her money we will change our plans,, 
and abandon the adventure we were forced to un- 
dertake. But if, for any reason, that plan goes 
awry, we can fall back upon this prettily con- 
ceived scheme which we have undertaken. As 
you say, it is well to have two strings to one’s 
bow; and during July and August everyone 
will be out of town, and so we shall lose no val- 
uable time.” 

Mrs. Merrick did not reply. She stitched 
away in a methodical manner, as if abstracted,. 


24 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and Louise crossed her delicate hands behind her 
head and gazed at her mother reflectively. Pres- 
ently she said : 

“Tell me more of my father’s family. Is this 
rich aunt of mine the only relative he had ?” 

“No, indeed. There were two other sisters 
and a brother — a very uninteresting lot, with the 
exception of your poor father. The eldest was 
John Merrick, a common tinsmith, if I remember 
rightly, who went into the far west many years 
ago and probably died there, for he was never 
heard from. Then came Jane, who in her young 
days had some slight claim to beauty. Anyway, 
she won the heart of Thomas Bradley, the wealthy 
young man I referred to, and she must have been 
clever to have induced him to leave her his money/ 
Your father was a year or so younger than Jane, 
and after him came Julia, a coarse and disagree- 
able creature who married a music-teacher and 
settled in some out-of-the-way country town. 
Once, while your father was alive, she visited us 
for a few days, with her baby daughter, and 
nearly drove us all crazy. Perhaps she did not 
find us very hospitable, for we were too poor to 


25 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


entertain lavishly. Anyway, she went away sud- 
denly after you had a fight with her child and 
nearly pulled its hair out by the roots, and I have 
never heard of her since.” 

“A daughter, eh,” said Louise, musingly. 
“Then this rich Aunt Jane has another niece be- 
sides myself.” 

“Perhaps two,” returned Mrs. Merrick; “for 
her youngest sister, who was named Violet, mar- 
ried a vagabond Irishman and had a daughter 
about a year younger than you. The mother died, 
but whether the child survived her or not I have 
never learned.” 

“What was her name?” asked Louise. 

“I cannot remember. But it is unimportant. 
You are the only Merrick of them all, and that is 
doubtless the reason Jane has sent for you.” 

The girl shook her blonde head. 

“I don’t like it,” she observed. 

“Don’t like what?” 

“All this string of relations. It complicates 
matters.” 

Mrs. Merrick seemed annoyed. 

“If you fear your own persuasive powers,” 


26 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


she said, with almost a sneer in her tones, “you’d 
better not go to Elmhurst. One or the other of 
your country cousins might supplant you in your 
dear aunt’s affections.” 

The girl yawned and took up her neglected 
novel. 

“Neverthereless, mater dear,” she said briefly, 
“I shall go.” 


27 


CHAPTER III. 


PATSY. 

“Now, Major, stand up straight and behave 
yourself ! How do you expect me to sponge your 
vest when you’re wriggling around in that way ?” 

“Patsy, dear, you’re so sweet this avening, 
I just had to kiss your lips.” 

“Don’t do it again, sir,” replied Patricia, 
severely, as she scrubbed the big man’s waistcoat 
with a damp cloth. “And tell me, Major, how 
you ever happened to get into such a disgraceful 
condition.” 

“The soup just shpilled,” said the Major, 
meekly. 

Patricia laughed merrily. She was a tiny 
thing, appearing to be no more than twelve years 
old, although in reality she was sixteen. Her 
hair was a decided red — not a beautiful “auburn,” 

28 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


but really red — and her round face was badly 
freckled. Her nose was too small and her mouth 
too wide to be beautiful, but the girl’s wonderful 
blue eyes fully redeemed these faults and led the 
observer to forget all else but their fascinations. 
They could really dance, these eyes, and send out 
magnetic, scintillating sparks of joy and laughter 
that were potent to draw a smile from the sourest 
visage they smiled upon. Patricia was a favorite 
with all who knew her, but the big, white-mous- 
tached Major Doyle, her father, positively wor- 
shipped her, and let the girl rule him as her fancy 
dictated. 

“Now, sir, you’re fairly decent again,” she 
said, after a few vigorous scrubs. “So put on 
your hat and we’ll go out to dinner.” 

They occupied two small rooms at the top of 
a respectable but middle-class tenement building, 
and had to descend innumerable flights of bare 
wooden stairs before they emerged upon a narrow 
street thronged with people of all sorts and de- 
scriptions except those who were too far re- 
moved from the atmosphere of Duggan street 
to know that it existed. 


29 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


The big major walked stiffly and pompously 
along, swinging his silver-trimmed cane in one 
hand while Patricia clung to his other arm. The 
child wore a plain grey cloak, for the evening 
was chill. She had a knack of making her own 
clothes, all of simple material and fashion, but 
fitting neatly and giving her an air of quiet re- 
finement that made more than one passer-by turn 
to look back at her curiously. 

After threading their way for several blocks 
they turned in at the open door of an unobtrusive 
restaurant where many of the round white tables 
were occupied by busy and silent patrons. 

The proprietor nodded to the major and gave 
Patricia a smile. There was no need to seat 
them, for they found the little table in the corner 
where they were accustomed to eat, and sat down. 

“Did you get paid tonight?” asked the girl. 

“To be sure, my Patsy.” 

“Then hand over the coin,” she commanded. 

The major obeyed. She counted it carefully 
and placed it in her pocketbook, afterwards pass- 
ing a half-dollar back to her father. 

“Remember, Major, no riotous living! Make 


30 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


that go as far as you can, and take care not to 
invite anyone to drink with you.” 

“Yes, Patsy.” 

“And now I’ll order the dinner.” 

The waiter was bowing and smiling beside 
her. Everyone smiled at Patsy, it seemed. 

They gave the usual order, and then, after a 
moment’s hesitation, she added: 

“And a bottle of claret for the Major.” 

Her father fairly gasped with amazement. 

“Patsy!” 

People at the near-by tables looked up as her 
gay laugh rang out, and beamed upon her in 
sympathy. 

“I’m not crazy a bit, Major,” said she, pat- 
ting the hand he had stretched toward her, part- 
ly in delight and partly in protest. “I’ve just 
had a raise, that’s all, and we’ll celebrate the oc- 
casion.” 

Her father tucked the napkin under his chin 
then looked at her questioningly. 

“Tell me, Patsy.” 

“Madam Borne sent me to a swell house on 
Madison Avenue this morning, because all her 

3i 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

women were engaged. I dressed the lady’s hair 
in my best style, Major, and she said it was 
much more becoming than Juliette ever made 
it. Indeed, she wrote a note to Madam, asking 
her to send me, hereafter, instead of Juliette, and 
Madam patted my head and said I would be a 
credit to her, and my wages would be ten dol- 
lars a week, from now on. Ten dollars, Major! 
As much as you earn yourself at that miserable 
bookkeeping !” 

“Sufferin’ Moses!” ejaculated the astonished 
major, staring back into her twinkling eyes. “If 
this kapes on, we’ll be millionaires, Patsy.” 

“We’re millionaires, now,” responded Patsy, 
promptly, “because we’ve health, and love, and 
contentment — and enough money to keep us 
from worrying. Do you know what I’ve de- 
cided, Major, dear? You shall go to make that 
visit to your colonel that you’ve so long wanted 
to have. The vacation will do you good, and 
you can get away all during July, because you 
haven’t rested for five years. I went to see Mr. 
Conover this noon, and he said he’d give you the 


32 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


month willingly, and keep the position for you 
when you returned.” 

“What! You spoke to old Conover about 
me?” 

“This noon. It’s all arranged, daddy, and 
you’ll just have a glorious time with the old 
colonel. Bless his dear heart, he’ll be overjoyed 
to have you with him, at last.” 

The major pulled out his handkerchief, blew 
his nose vigorously, and then surreptitiously 
wiped his eyes. 

“Ah, Patsy, Patsy; it’s an angel you are, and 
nothing less at all, at all.” 

“Rubbish, Major. Try your claret, and see 
if it’s right. And eat your fish before it gets 
cold. I’ll not treat you again, sir, unless you 
try to look happy. Why, you seem as glum as 
old Conover himself!” 

The major was positively beaming. 

“Would it look bad for me to kiss you, 
Patsy?” 

“Now?” 

“Now and right here in this very room!” 

“Of course it would. Try and behave, like 


33 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

the gentleman you are, and pay attention to your 
dinner!” 

It was a glorious meal. The cost was twen- 
ty-five cents a plate, but the gods never feasted 
more grandly in Olympus than these two simple, 
loving souls in that grimy Duggan street res- 
taurant. 

Over his coffee the major gave a sudden 
start and looked guiltily into Patricia’s eyes. 

“Now, then,” she said, quickly catching the 
expression, “out with it.” 

“It’s a letter,” said the major. “It came 
yesterday, or mayhap the day before. I don’t 
just remember.” 

“A letter! And who from?” she cried, 
surprised. 

“An ould vixen.” 

“And who may that be?” 

“Your mother’s sister Jane. I can tell by 
the emblem on the flap of the envelope,” said 
he, drawing a crumpled paper from his breast 
pocket. 

“Oh, that person,” said Patsy, with scorn. 
“Whatever induced her to write to me?” 


34 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“You might read it and find out,” suggested . 
the major. 

Patricia tore open the envelope and scanned 
the letter. Her eyes blazed. 

“What is it, Mavoureen?” 

“An insult!” she answered, crushing the pa- 
per in her hand and then stuffing it into the pock- 
et of her dress. “Light your pipe, daddy, dear. 
Here — I’ll strike the match.” 


35 


CHAPTER IV. 


LOUISE MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

“How did you enjoy the reception, Louise?” 

“Very well, mamma. But I made the dis- 
covery that my escort, Harry Wyndham, is only 
a poor cousin of the rich Wyndham family, and 
will never have a penny he doesn’t earn him- 
self.” 

“I knew that,” said Mrs. Merrick. “But 
Harry has the entree into some very exclusive 
social circles. I hope you treated him nicely, 
Louise. He can be of use to us.” 

“Oh, yes, I think I interested him; but he's 
a very stupid boy. By the way, mamma, I had 
an adventure last evening, which I have had no 
time to tell you of before.” 

“Yes?” 

“It has given me quite a shock. You no- 

36 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ticed the maid you ordered to come from Madam 
Borne to dress my hair for the reception?” 

“I merely saw her. Was she unsatisfac- 
tory ?” 

“She was very clever. I never looked pret- 
tier, I am sure. The maid is a little, demure 
thing, very young for such a position, and posi- 
tively homely and common in appearance. But 
I hardly noticed her until she dropped a letter 
from her clothing. It fell just beside me, and I 
saw that it was addressed to no less a personage 
than my rich aunt, Miss Jane Merrick, at Elm- 
hurst. Curious to know why a hair-dresser 
should be in correspondence with Aunt Jane, I 
managed to conceal the letter under my skirts 
until the maid was gone. Then I put it away 
until after the reception. It was sealed and 
stamped, all ready for the post, but I moistened 
the flap and easily opened it. Guess what I 
read?” 

“I’ve no idea,” replied Mrs. Merrick. 

“Here it is,” continued Louise, producing a 
letter and carefully unfolding it. “Listen to this, 
if you please: ‘Aunt Jane.’ She doesn’t even 


37 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


say ‘dear’ or ‘respected/ you observe. ‘Your 
letter to me, asking me to visit you, is almost an 
insult after your years of silence and neglect 
and your refusals to assist my poor mother when 
she was in need. Thank God we can do without 
your friendship and assistance now, for my hon- 
ored father, Major Gregory Doyle, is very pros- 
perous and earns all we need. I return your 
check with my compliments. If you are really 
ill, I am sorry for you, and would go to nurse 
you were you not able to hire twenty nurses, each 
of whom would have fully as much love and far 
more respect for you than could ever 
Your indignant niece, 

Patricia Doyle/ 

“What do you think of that, mamma?” 

“It’s very strange, Louise. This hair-dresser 
is your own cousin.” 

“So it seems. And she must be poor, or she 
wouldn’t go out as a sort of lady’s maid. I re- 
member scolding her severely for pulling my hair 
at one time, and she was as meek as Moses, and 
never answered a word.” 

“She has a temper though, as this letter 

38 


AUNT JANUS NIECES. 


proves/’ said Mrs. Merrick; “and I admire her 
for the stand she has taken.” 

“So do I,” rejoined Louise with a laugh, “for 
it removes a rival from my path. You will no- 
tice that Aunt Jane has sent her a check for the 
same amount she sent me. Here it is, folded in 
the letter. Probably my other cousin, the De 
Graf girl, is likewise invited to Elmhurst? Aunt 
Jane wanted us all, to see what we were like, and 
perhaps to choose between us.” 

“Quite likely,” said Mrs. Merrick, uneasily 
watching her daughter’s face. 

“That being the case,” continued Louise, “I 
intend to enter the competition. With this child 
Patricia out of the way, it will be a simple duel 
with my unknown De Graf cousin for my aunt’s 
favor, and the excitement will be agreeable even 
if I am worsted.” 

“There’s no danger of that,” said her mother, 
calmly. “And the stakes are high, Louise. I’ve 
learned that your Aunt Jane is rated as worth 
a half million dollars.” 

“They shall be mine,” said the daughter, 
with assurance. “Unless, indeed, the De Graf 


39 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

girl is most wonderfully clever. What is her 
name?” 

“Elizabeth, if I remember rightly. But I am 
not sure she is yet alive, my dear. I haven’t 
heard of the De Grafs for a dozen years.” 

“Anyway I shall accept my Aunt Jane’s in- 
vitation, and make the acceptance as sweet as 
Patricia Doyle’s refusal is sour. Aunt Jane will 
be simply furious when she gets the little hair- 
dresser’s note.” 

“Will you send it on?” 

“Why not? It’s only a question of resealing 
the envelope and mailing it. And it will be sure 
to settle Miss Doyle’s chances of sharing the in- 
heritance, for good and all.” 

“And the check?” 

“Oh, I shall leave the check inside the envel- 
ope. It wouldn’t be at all safe to cash it, you 
know.” 

“But if you took it out Jane would think 
the girl had kept the money, after all, and would 
be even more incensed against her.” 

“No,” said Louise, after a moment’s thought, 
“I’ll not do a single act of dishonesty that could 


40 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ever by any chance be traced to my door. To 
be cunning, to be diplomatic, to play the game 
of life with the best cards we can draw, is every 
woman’s privilege. But if I can’t win honestly, 
mater dear, I’ll quit the game, for even money 
can’t compensate a girl for the loss of her self- 
respect.” 

Mrs. Merrick cast a fleeting glance at her 
daughter and smiled. Perhaps the heroics of 
Louise did not greatly impress her. 


41 


CHAPTER V. ' 


AUNT JANE. 

“Lift me up, Phibbs — no, not that way ! Con- 
found your awkwardness — do you want to break 
my back? There! That’s better. Now the pil- 
low at my head. Oh — h. What are you blink- 
ing at, you old owl?” 

“Are you better this morning, Miss Jane?” 
asked the attendant, with grave deference. 

“No; I’m worse.” 

“You look brighter, Miss Jane.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Martha Phibbs. I know 
how I am, better than any doctor, and I tell you 
I’m on my last legs.” 

“Anything unusual, Miss?” 

“Of course. I can’t be on my last legs regu- 
larly, can I?” 

“I hope not, Miss.” 


42 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


‘‘What do you mean by that? Are youl try- 
ing to insult me, now that I’m weak and help- 
less? Answer me, you gibbering idiot!” 

“I’m sure you’ll feel better soon, Miss. Can’t 
I wheel you into the garden? It’s a beautiful 
day, and quite sunny and warm already.” 

“Be quick about it, then; and don’t tire me 
out with your eternal doddering. When a thing 
has to be done, do it. That’s my motto.” 

“Yes, Miss Jane.” 

Slowly and with care the old attendant 
wheeled her mistress’s invalid chair through the 
doorway of the room, along a stately passage, 
and out upon a broad piazza at the back of the 
mansion. Here were extensive and carefully 
tended gardens, and the balmy morning air was 
redolent with the odor of flowers. 

Jane Merrick sniffed the fragrance with evi- 
dent enjoyment, and her sharp grey eyes spark- 
led as she allowed them to roam over the gor- 
geous expanse of colors spread out before her. 

“I’ll go down, I guess, Phibbs. This may be 
my last day on earth, and I’ll spend an hour with 


43 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

my flowers before I bid them good-bye for- 
ever.” 

Phibbs pulled a bell-cord, and a soft far- 
away jingle was heard. Then an old man came 
slowly around the corner of the house. His bare 
head was quite bald. He wore a short canvas 
apron and carried pruning-shears in one hand. 
Without a word of greeting to his mistress or 
scarce a glance at her half recumbent form, he 
mounted the steps of the piazza and assisted 
Phibbs to lift the chair to the ground. 

“How are the roses coming on, James?” 

“Poorly, Miss,” he answered, and turning 
his back returned to his work around the cor- 
ner. If he was surly, Miss Jane seemed not to 
mind it. Her glance even softened a moment as 
she followed his retreating form. 

But now she was revelling amongst the flow- 
ers, which she seemed to love passionately. 
Phibbs wheeled her slowly along the narrow 
paths between the beds, and she stopped fre- 
quently to fondle a blossom or pull away a dead 
leaf or twig from a bush. The roses were mag- 
nificent, in spite of the old gardener’s croaking. 


44 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

and the sun was warm and grateful and the hum 
of the bees musical and sweet. 

“It’s hard to die and leave all this, Phibbs,” 
said the old woman, a catch in her voice. “But 
it’s got to be done.” 

“Not for a while yet, I hope, Miss Jane.” 

“It won’t be long, Phibbs. But I must try to 
live until my nieces come, and I can decide which 
of them is most worthy to care for the old place 
when I am gone.” 

“Yes, Miss.” 

“I’ve heard from two of them, already. They 
jumped at the bait I held out quickly enough; 
but that’s only natural. And the letters are very 
sensible ones, too. Elizabeth DeGraf says she 
will be glad to come, and thanks me for inviting 
her. Louise Merrick is glad to come, also, but 
hopes I am deceived about my health and that 
she will make me more than one visit after we 
become friends. A very proper feeling; but I’m 
not deceived, Phibbs. My end’s in plain sight.” 

“Yes, Miss Jane.” 

“And somebody’s got to have my money 

45 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and dear Elmhurst when I’m through with them. 
Who will it be, Phibbs ?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know, Miss.” 

“Nor do I. The money’s mine, and I can do 
what I please with it; and I’m under no obliga- 
tion to anyone.” 

“Except Kenneth,” said a soft voice behind 

her. 

Jane Merrick gave a start at the interrup- 
tion and turned red and angry as, without look- 
ing around, she answered: 

“Stuff and nonsense! I know my duties and 
my business, Silas Watson.” 

“To be sure,” said a little, withered man, 
passing around the chair and facing the old wo- 
man with an humble, deprecating air. He was 
clothed in black, and his smooth-shaven, deeply 
lined face was pleasant of expression and not 
without power and shrewd intelligence. The 
eyes, however, were concealed by heavy-rimmed 
spectacles, and his manner was somewhat shy 
and reserved. However, he did not hesitate to 
speak frankly to his old friend, nor minded in 
the least if he aroused her ire. 


4 6 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 


“No one knows better than you, dear Miss 
Jane, her duties and obligations; and no one per- 
forms them more religiously. But your recent 
acts, I confess, puzzle me. Why should you 
choose from a lot of inexperienced, incompetent 
girls a successor to Thomas Bradley’s fortune, 
when he especially requested you in his will to 
look after any of his relatives, should they need 
assistance? Kenneth Forbes, his own nephew, 
was born after Tom’s death, to be sure; but he 
is alone in the world now, an orphan, and has 
had no advantages to help him along in life 
since his mother’s death eight years ago. I 
think Tom Bradley must have had a premoni- 
tion of what was to come even though his sister 
was not married at the time of his death, and I 
am sure he would want you to help Kenneth 
now.” 

“He placed me under no obligations to leave 
the boy any money,” snapped the old woman, 
white with suppressed wrath, “you know that 
well enough, Silas Watson, for you drew up the 
will.” 

The old gentleman slowly drew a pattern 

47 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

upon the gravelled walk with the end of his 
walking-stick. 

“Yes, I drew up the will,” he said, deliber- 
ately, “and I remember that he gave to you, his 
betrothed bride, all that he possessed — gave it 
gladly and lovingly, and without reserve. He 
was very fond of you, Miss Jane. But perhaps 
his conscience pricked him a bit, after all, for 
he added the words : ‘I shall expect you to look 
after the welfare of my only relative, my sister, 
Katherine Bradley — or any of her heirs.’ It 
appears to me, Miss Jane, that that is a distinct 
obligation. The boy is now sixteen and as fine 
a fellow as one often meets.” 

“Bah! An imbecile — an awkward, ill-man- 
nered brat who is only fit for a stable-boy! I 
know him, Silas, and I know he’ll never amount 
to a hill of beans. Leave him my money? Not 
if I hadn’t a relative on earth !” 

“You misjudge him, Jane. Kenneth is all 
right if you’ll treat him decently. But he won’t 
stand your abuse and I don’t think the less of 
him for that.” 

“Why abuse? Haven’t I given him a home 

48 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and an education, all because Thomas asked tne 
to look after his relatives? And he’s been re- 
bellious and pig-headed and sullen in return for 
my kindness, so naturally there’s little love lost 
between us.” 

“You resented your one obligation, Jane; and 
although you fulfilled it to the letter you did not 
in the spirit of Tom Bradley’s request. I don’t 
blame the boy for not liking you.” 

“Sir!” 

“All right, Jane; fly at me if you will,” said 
the little man, with a smile; “but I intend to tell 
you frankly what I think of your actions, just as 
long as we remain friends.” 

Her stern brows unbent a trifle. 

“That’s why we are friends, Silas; and it’s 
useless to quarrel with you now that I’m on my 
last legs. A few days more will end me, I’m 
positive; so bear with me a little longer, my 
friend.” 

He took her withered hand in his and kissed 
it gently. 

“You’re not so very bad, Jane,” said he, “and 
I’m almost sure you will be with us for a long 


49 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

time to come. But you’re more nervous and 
irritable than usual, I’ll admit, and I fear this in- 
vasion of your nieces won’t be good for you. 
Are they really coming?” 

“Two of them are, I’m sure, for they’ve ac- 
cepted my invitation,” she replied. 

“Here’s a letter that just arrived,” he said, ' 
taking it from his pocket. “Perhaps it contains 
news from the third niece.” 

“My glasses, Phibbs!” cried Miss Jane, 
eagerly, and the attendant started briskly for the 
house to get them. 

“What do you know about these girls V* 
asked the old lawyer curiously. 

“Nothing whatever. I scarcely knew of their 
existence until you hunted them out for me and 
found they were alive. But I’m going to know 
them, and study them, and the one that’s most 
capable and deserving shall have my property.” 

Mr. Watson sighed. 

“And Kenneth?” he asked. 

“I’ll provide an annuity for the boy, although 
it’s more than he deserves. When I realized 
that death was creeping upon me I felt a strange 


50 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


desire to bequeath my fortune to one of my own 
flesh blood. Perhaps I didn’t treat my 
brothers and sisters generously in the old days, 
Silas.” 

“Perhaps not,” he answered. 

“So I’ll make amends to one of their chil- 
dren. That is, if any one of the three nieces 
should prove worthy.” 

“I see. But if neither of the three is 
worthy ?” 

“Then I’ll leave every cent to charity — ex- 
cept Kenneth’s annuity.” 

The lawyer smiled. 

“Let us hope,” said he, “that they will prove 
all you desire. It would break my heart, Jane, 
to see Elmhurst turned into a hospital.” 

Phibbs arrived with the spectacles, and Jane 
Merrick read her letter, her face growing harder 
with every line she mastered. Then she crum- 
pled the paper fiercely in both hands, and a mo- 
ment later smoothed it out carefully and replaced 
it in the envelope. 

Silas Watson had watched her silently. 


5i 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Well,” said he, at last, “another accept- 
ance?” 

“No, a refusal,” said she. “A refusal from 
the Irishman’s daughter, Patricia Doyle.” 

“That’s bad,” he remarked, but in a tone of 
relief. 

“I don’t see it in that light at all,” replied 
Miss Jane. “The girl is right. It’s the sort of 
letter I’d have written myself, under the circum- 
stances. I’ll write again, Silas, and humble my- 
self, and try to get her to come.” 

“You surprise me!” said the lawyer. 

“I surprise myself,” retorted the old woman, 
“but I mean to know more of this Patricia 
Doyle. Perhaps I’ve found a gold mine, Silas 
Watson!” 


52 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE BOY. 

Leaving the mistress of Elmhurst among her 
flowers, Silas Watson walked slowly and 
thoughtfully along the paths until he reached the 
extreme left wing of the rambling old mansion. 
Here, half hidden by tangled vines of climbing 
roses, he came to a flight of steps leading to an 
iron-railed balcony, and beyond this was a nar- 
row stairway to the rooms in the upper part of 
the wing. 

Miss Merrick, however ungenerous she 
might have been to others, had always main- 
tained Elmhurst in a fairly lavish manner. 
There were plenty of servants to look after the 
house and gardens, and there were good horses 
in the stables. Whenever her health permitted 
she dined in state each evening in the great din- 


53 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ing-room, solitary and dignified, unless on rare 
occasions her one familiar, Silas Watson, occu- 
pied the seat opposite her. “The boy/’ as he 
was contemptuously called, was never permitted 
to enter this room. Indeed, it would be difficult 
to define exactly Kenneth Forbes’ position at 
Elmhurst. He had lived there ever since his 
mother’s death, when, a silent and unattractive 
lad of eight, Mr. Watson had brought him to 
Jane Merrick and insisted upon her providing 
a home for Tom Bradley’s orphaned nephew. 

She accepted the obligation reluctantly 
enough, giving the child a small room in the left 
wing, as far removed from her own apartments 
as possible, and transferring all details of his 
care to Misery Agnew, the old housekeeper. 
Misery endeavored to “do her duty” by the boy, 
but appreciating the scant courtesy with which 
he was treated by her mistress, it is not surpris- 
ing the old woman regarded him merely as a de- 
pendent and left him mostly to his own devices. 

Kenneth, even in his first days at Elmhurst, 
knew that his presence was disagreeable to Miss 
Jane, and as the years dragged on he grew shy 

54 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

and retiring, longing to break away from his 
unpleasant surroundings, but knowing of no 
other place where he would be more welcome. 
His only real friend was the lawyer, who neg- 
lected no opportunity to visit the boy and chat 
with him in his cheery manner. Mr. Watson 
also arranged with the son of the village curate 
to tutor Kenneth and prepare him for college; 
but either the tutor was incompetent or the pupil 
did not apply himself, for at twenty Kenneth 
Forbes was very ignorant, indeed, and seemed 
not to apply himself properly to his books. 

He was short of stature and thin, with a sad 
drawn face and manners that even his staunch 
friend, Silas Watson, admitted were awkward 
and unprepossessing. What he might have been 
under different conditions or with different treat- 
ment, could only be imagined. Slowly climbing 
the stairs to the little room Kenneth inhabited, 
Mr. Watson was forced to conclude, with a sigh 
of regret, that he could not blame Miss Jane for 
wishing to find a more desirable heir to her es- 
tate than this graceless, sullen youth who had 
been thrust upon her by a thoughtless request 


55 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

contained in the will of her dead lover — a re- 
quest that she seemed determined to fulfil liter- 
ally, as it only required her to “look after” Tom’s 
relatives and did not oblige her to leave Ken- 
neth her property. 

Yet, strange as it may seem, the old lawyer 
was exceedingly fond of the boy, and longed to 
see him the master of Elmhurst. Sometimes, 
when they were alone, Kenneth forgot his sense 
of injury and dependence, and spoke so well and 
with such animation that Mr. Watson was as- 
tonished, and believed that hidden underneath 
the mask of reserve was another entirely differ- 
ent personality, that in the years to come might 
change the entire nature of the neglected youth 
and win for him the respect and admiration of 
the world. But these fits of brightness and geni- 
ality were rare. Only the lawyer had as yet dis- 
covered them. 

Today he found the boy lying listlessly upon 
the window-seat, an open book in his hand, but 
his eyes fixed dreamily upon the grove of huge 
elm trees that covered the distant hills. 

“Morning, Ken,” said he, briefly, sitting be- 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

side his young friend and taking the book in his 
own hand. The margins of the printed pages 
were fairly covered wifh drawings of every 
description. The far away trees were there and 
the near-by rose gardens. There was a cat spit- 
ting at an angry dog, caricatures of old Misery 
and James, the gardener, and of Aunt Jane and 
even Silas Watson himself — all so clearly de- 
picted that the lawyer suddenly wondered if they 
were not clever, and an evidence of genius. But 
the boy turned to look at him, and the next mo- 
ment seized the book from his grasp and sent it 
flying through the open window, uttering at the 
same time a rude exclamation of impatience. 

The lawyer quietly lighted his pipe. 

“Why did you do that, Kenneth?” he asked. 
“The pictures are clever enough to be preserved. 
I did not know you have a talent for drawing.” 

The boy glanced at him, but answered noth- 
ing, and the lawyer thought best not to pursue 
the subject. After smoking a moment in silence 
he remarked: 

“Your aunt is failing fast.” Although no 

57 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 


relative, Kenneth had been accustomed to speak 
of Jane Merrick as his aunt. 

Getting neither word nor look in reply the 
lawyer presently continued : 

“I do not think she will live much longer.” 

The boy stared from the window and 
drummed on the sill with his fingers. 

“When she dies,” said Mr. Watson, in a 
musing tone, “there will be a new mistress at 
Elmhurst and you will have to move out.” 

The boy now turned to look at him, enquir- 
ingly. 

“You are twenty, and you are not ready for 
college. You would be of no use in the commer- 
cial world. You have not even the capacity to 
become a clerk. What will you do, Kenneth? 
Where will you go?” 

The boy shrugged his shoulders. 

“When will Aunt Jane die?” he asked. 

“I hope she will live many days yet. She 
may die tomorrow.” 

“When she does, I'll answer your question,” 
said the boy, roughly. “When I’m turned out 
of this place — which is part prison and part par- 

58 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

adise — I’ll do something. I don’t know what, 
and I won’t bother about it till the time comes. 
But I’ll do something.” 

“Could you earn a living?” asked the old 
lawyer. 

“Perhaps not; but I’ll get one. Will I be a 
beggar?” 

“I don’t know. It depends on whether Aunt 
Jane leaves you anything in her will.” 

“I hope she won’t leave me a cent!” cried 
the boy, with sudden fierceness. “I hate her, 
and will be glad when she is dead and out of my 
way !” 

“Kenneth — Kenneth, lad !” 

“I hate her!” he persisted, with blazing eyes. 
“She has insulted me, scorned me, humiliated 
me every moment since I have known her. I’ll 
be glad to have her die, and I don’t want a cent 
of her miserable money.” 

“Money,” remarked the old man, knocking 
the ashes from his pipe, “is very necessary to one 
who is incompetent to earn his salt. And the 
money she leaves you — if she really does leave 

59 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

you any — won’t be her’s, remember, but your 
Uncle Tom’s.” 

“Uncle Tom was good to my father,” said 
the boy, softening. 

“Well, Uncle Tom gave his money to Aunt 
Jane, whom he had expected to marry; but he 
asked her to care for his relatives, and she’ll 
doubtless give you enough to live on. But the 
place will go to some one else, and that means 
you must move on.” 

“Who will have Elmhurst ?” asked the boy. 

“One of your aunt’s nieces, probably. She 
has three, it seems, all of them young girls, and 
she has invited them to come here to visit her.” 

“Girls! Girls at Elmhurst?” cried the boy, 
shrinking back with a look of terror in his eyes. 

“To be sure. One of the nieces, it seems, re- 
fuses to come; but there will be two of them to 
scramble for your aunt’s affection.” 

“She has none,” declared the boy. 

“Or her money, which is the same thing. 
The one she likes the best will get the estate.” 

Kenneth smiled, and with the change of ex- 
pression his face lighted wonderfully. 


60 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Poor Aunt!” he said. “Almost I am tempt- 
ed to be sorry for her. Two girls — fighting one 
against the other for Elmhurst — and both fawn- 
ing before a cruel and malicious old woman who 
could never love anyone but herself.” 

“And her flowers,” suggested the lawyer. 

“Oh, yes; and perhaps James. Tell me, why 
should she love James, who is a mere gardener, 
and hate me?” 

“James tends the flowers, and the flowers are 
Jane Merrick’s very life. Isn’t that the explana- 
tion?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“The girls need not worry you, Kenneth. It 
will be easy for you to keep out of their way.” 

“When will they come?” 

“Next week, I believe.” 

The boy looked around helplessly, with the 
air of a caged tiger. 

“Perhaps they won’t know I’m here,” he 
said. 

“Perhaps not. I’ll tell Misery to bring all 
your meals to this room, and no one ever comes 
to this end of the garden. But if they find you, 

61 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Kenneth, and scare you out of your den, run 
over to me, and I’ll keep you safe until the girls 
are gone.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Watson,” more graciously 
than was his wont. “It isn’t that I’m afraid of 
girls, you know ; but they may want to insult me, 
just as their aunt does, and I couldn’t bear any 
more cruelty.” 

“I know nothing about them,” said the law- 
yer, “so I can’t vouch in any way for Aunt Jane’s 
nieces. But they are young, and it is probable 
they’ll be as shy and uncomfortable here at Elm- 
hurst as you are yourself. And after all, Ken- 
neth boy, the most important thing just now is 
your own future. What in the world is to be- 
come of you?” 

“Oh, that ” answered the boy, relapsing 
into his sullen mood; “I can’t see that it matters 
much one way or another. Anyhow, I’ll not 
bother my head about it until the time comes 
and as far as you’re concerned, it’s none of your 
business.” 


62 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE FIRST WARNING. 

For a day or two Jane Merrick seemed to 
improve in health. Indeed, Martha Phibbs de- 
clared her mistress was better than she had been 
for weeks. Then, one night, the old attendant 
was awakened by a scream, and rushed to her 
mistress’ side. 

“What is it, ma’am?” she asked, tremblingly. 

“My leg! I can’t move my leg,” gasped the 
mistress of Elmhurst. “Rub it, you old' fool ! 
Rub it till you drop, and see if you can bring 
back the life to it.” 

Martha rubbed, of course, but the task was 
useless. Oscar the groom was sent on horseback 
for the nearest doctor, who came just as day was 
breaking. He gave the old woman a brief ex- 
amination and shook his head. 


63 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“It's the first warning, ’’said he; “but nothing 
to be frightened about. That is, for the present.” 

“Is it paralysis?” asked Jane Merrick. 

“Yes; a slight stroke.” 

“But I’ll have another?” 

“Perhaps, in time.” 

“How long?” 

“It may be a week — or a month — or a year. 
Sometimes there is never another stroke. Don’t 
worry, ma’am. Just lie still and be comfortable.” 

“Huh !” grunted the old woman. But she be- 
came more composed and obeyed the doctor’s in- 
structions with unwonted meekness. Silas Wat- 
son arrived during the forenoon, and pressed her 
thin hand with real sympathy, for these two were 
friends despite the great difference in their tem- 
peraments. 

“Shall I draw your will, Jane?” he asked. 

“No!” she snapped. “I’m not going to die 
just yet, I assure you. I shall live to carry out 
my plans, Silas.” 

She did live, and grew better as the days 
wore on, although she never recovered the use of 
the paralyzed limb. 


64 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Each day Phibbs drew the invalid chair to 
the porch and old James lifted it to the garden 
walk, where his mistress might enjoy the flowers 
he so carefully and skillfully tended. They 
seldom spoke together, these two ; yet there 
seemed a strange bond of sympathy between 
them. 

At last the first of July arrived, and Oscar 
was dispatched to the railway station, four miles 
distant, to meet Miss Elizabeth De Graf, the first 
of the nieces to appear in answer to Jane Mer- 
rick’s invitation. 

Beth looked very charming and fresh in her 
new gown, and she greeted her aunt with a calm 
graciousness that would have amazed the profes- 
sor to behold. She had observed carefully the 
grandeur and beauty of Elmhurst, as she drove 
through the grounds, and instantly decided the 
place was worth an effort to win. 

“So, this is Elizabeth, is it?” asked Aunt 
Jane, as the girl stood before her for inspection. 
“You may kiss me, child.” 

Elizabeth advanced, striving to quell the an- 
tipathy she felt to kiss the stern featured, old 

65 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

woman, and touched her lips to the wrinkled 
forehead. 

Jane Merrick laughed, a bit sneer ingly, while 
Beth drew back, still composed, and looked at 
her relative enquiringly. 

“Well, what do you think of me?” demanded 
Aunt Jane, as if embarrassed at the scrutiny she 
received. 

“Surely, it is too early to ask me that,” re- 
plied Beth, gently. “I am going to try to like 
you, and my first sight of my new aunt leads me 
to hope I shall succeed.” 

“Why shouldn’t you like me?” cried the old 
woman. “Why must you try to like your moth- 
er’s sister?” 

Beth flushed. She had promised herself not 
to become angry or discomposed, whatever her 
aunt might say or do; but before she could con- 
trol herself an indignant expression flashed 
across her face and Jane Merrick saw it. 

“There are reasons,” said Beth, slowly, “why 
your name is seldom mentioned in my father’s 
family. Until your letter came I scarcely knew 
I possessed an aunt. It was your desire we 


66 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

i 

should become better acquainted, and I am here 
for that purpose. I hope we shall become 
friends, Aunt Jane, but until then, it is better 
we should not discuss the past.” 

The woman frowned. It was not difficult tor 
her to read the character of the child before her, 
and she knew intuitively that Beth was strongly 
prejudiced against her, but was honestly trying 
not to allow that prejudice to influence her. She 
decided to postpone further interrogations until 
another time. 

“Your journey has tired you,” she said 
abruptly. “I’ll have Misery show you to your 
room.” 

She touched a bell beside her. 

“I’m not tired, but I’ll go to my room, if you 
please,” answered Beth, who realized that she 
had in some way failed to make as favorable an 
impression as she had hoped. “When may I see 
you again?” 

“When I send for you,” snapped Aunt Jane, 
as the housekeeper entered. “I suppose you 
know I am a paralytic, and liable to die at any 
time?” 


67 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“I am very sorry/’ said Beth, hesitatingly. 
“You do not seem very ill.” 

“I’m on my last legs. I may not live an 
hour. But that’s none of your business, I sup- 
pose. By the way, I expect your cousin on the 
afternoon train.” 

Beth gave a start of surprise. 

“My cousin?” she asked. 

“Yes, Louise Merrick.” 

“Oh!” said Beth, and stopped short. 

“What do you mean by that?” enquired 
Aunt Jane, with a smile that was rather mali- 
cious. 

“I did not know I had a cousin,” said the 
girl. “That is,” correcting herself, “I did not 
know whether Louise Merrick was alive or not. 
Mother has mentioned her name once or twice 
in my presence; but not lately.” 

“Well, she’s alive. Very much alive, I be- 
lieve. And she’s coming to visit me, while you 
are here. I expect you to be friends.” 

“To be sure,” said Beth, nevertheless discom- 
fited at the news. 

“We dine at seven,” said Aunt Jane. “I al- 

68 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ways lunch in my own room, and you may do 
the same,” and with a wave of her thin hand she 
dismissed the girl, who thoughtfully followed 
the old housekeeper through the halls. 

It was not going to be an easy task to win 
this old woman’s affection. Already she rebelled 
at the necessity of undertaking so distasteful a 
venture and wondered if she had not made a mis- 
take in trying to curb her natural frankness, and 
to conciliate a creature whose very nature seemed 
antagonistic to her own. And this new cousin, 
Louise Merrick, why was she coming to Elm- 
hurst? To compete for the prize Beth had al- 
ready determined to win ? In that case she must 
consider carefully her line of action, that no 
rival might deprive her of this great estate. Beth 
felt that she could fight savagely for an object 
she so much desired. Her very muscles hard- 
ened and grew tense at the thought of conflict 
as she walked down the corridor in the wake of 
old Misery the housekeeper. She had always re- 
sented the sordid life at Cloverton. She had 
been discontented with her lot since her earliest 
girlhood, and longed to escape the constant bick- 

69 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


erings of her parents and their vain struggles to 
obtain enough money to “keep up appearances” 
and drive the wolf from the door. And here 
was an opportunity to win a fortune and a home 
beautiful enough for a royal princess. All that 
was necessary was to gain the esteem of a crabbed, 
garrulous old woman, who had doubtless but a 
few more weeks to live. It must be done, in one 
way or another; but how? How could she out- 
wit this unknown cousin, and inspire the love of 
Aunt Jane? 

“If there’s any stuff of the right sort in my 
nature,” decided the girl, as she entered her 
pretty bedchamber and threw herself into a 
chair, “I’ll find a way to win out. One thing is 
certain — I’ll never again have another chance at 
so fine a fortune, and if I fail to get it I shall 
deserve to live in poverty forever afterward.” 

Suddenly she noticed the old housekeeper 
standing before her and regarding her with a 
kindly interest. In an instant she sprang up, 
threw her arms around Misery and kissed her 
furrowed cheek. 

“Thank you for being so kind,” said she. 

70 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“I’ve never been away from home before and 
you must be a mother to me while I’m at Elm- 
hurst.” 

Old Misery smiled and stroked the girl’s 
glossy head. 

“Bless the child!” she said, delightedly; “of 
course I’ll be a mother to you. You’ll need a bit 
of comforting now and then, my dear, if you’re 
going to live with Jane Merrick.” 

“Is she cross?” asked Beth, softly.' 

“At times she’s a fiend,” confided the old 
housekeeper, in almost a whisper. “But don’t you 
mind her tantrums, or lay ’em to heart, and you’ll 
get along with her all right.” 

“Thank you,” said the girl. “I’ll try not to 
mind.” 

“Do you need anything else, deary?” asked 
Misery, with a glance around the room. 

“Nothing at all, thank you.” 

The housekeeper nodded and softly with- 
drew. 

“That was one brilliant move, at any rate,” 
said Beth to herself, as she laid aside her hat 
and prepared to unstrap her small trunk. “I’ve 


7 1 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

made a friend at Elmhurst who will be of use to 
me; and I shall make more before long. Come 
as soon as you like, Cousin Louise ! You’ll have 
to be more clever than I am, if you hope to win 
Elmhurst.” 


72 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE DIPLOMAT. 

Aunt Jane was in her garden, enjoying the 
flowers. This was her especial garden, sur- 
rounded by a high box hedge, and quite distinct 
from the vast expanse of shrubbery and flower- 
beds which lent so much to the beauty of the 
grounds at Elmhurst. Aunt Jane knew and 
loved every inch of her property. She had 
watched the shrubs personally for many years, 
and planned all the alterations and the construc- 
tion of the flower-beds which James had so suc- 
cessfully attended to. Each morning, when her 
health permitted, she had inspected the green- 
houses and issued her brief orders — brief be- 
cause her slightest word to the old gardener in- 
sured the fulfillment of her wishes. But this bit 
of garden adjoining her own rooms was her 

73 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

especial pride, and contained the choicest plants 
she had been able to secure. So, since she had 
been confined to her chair, the place had almost 
attained to the dignity of a private drawing- 
room, and on bright days she spent many hours 
here, delighting to feast her eyes with the rich 
coloring of the flowers and to inhale their fra- 
grance. For however gruff Jane Merrick might 
be to the people with whom she came in contact, 
she was always tender to her beloved flowers, 
and her nature invariably softened when in their 
presence. 

By and by Oscar, the groom, stepped through 
an opening in the hedge and touched his hat. 

“Has my niece arrived?” asked his mistress, 
sharply. 

“She’s on the way, mum,” the man answered, 
grinning. “She stopped outside the grounds to 
pick wild flowers, an’ said I was to tell you 
she’d walk the rest o’ the way.” 

“To pick wild flowers?” 

“That’s what she said, mum. She’s that 
fond of ’em she couldn’t resist it. I was to come 


74 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

an’ tell you this, mum; an’ she’ll follow me di- 
rectly.” 

Aunt Jane stared at the man sternly, and he 
turned toward her an unmoved countenance. 
Oscar had been sent to the station to meet Louise 
Merrick, and drive her to Elmhurst; but this 
strange freak on the part of her guest set the old 
woman thinking what her object could be. Wild 
flowers were well enough in their way; but 
those adjoining the grounds of Elmhurst were 
very ordinary and unattractive, and Miss Mer- 
rick’s aunt was expecting her. Perhaps — 

A sudden light illumined the mystery. 

“See here, Oscar; has this girl been question- 
ing you?” 

“She asked a few questions, mum.” 

“About me?” 

“Some of ’em, if I remember right, mum, 
was about you.” 

“And you told her I was fond of flowers ?” 

“I may have just mentioned that you liked 
’em, mum.” 

Aunt Jane gave a scornful snort, and the 
man responded in a curious way. He winked 


75 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


slowly and laboriously, still retaining the solemn 
expression on his face. 

“You may go, Oscar. Have the girl’s lug- 
gage placed in her room.” 

“Yes, mum.” 

He touched his hat and then withdrew, 
leaving Jane Merrick with a frown upon her 
brow that was not caused by his seeming im- 
pertinence. 

Presently a slight and graceful form darted 
through the opening in the hedge and ap- 
proached the chair wherein Jane Merrick re- 
clined. 

“Oh, my dear, dear aunt!” cried Louise. 
“How glad I am to see you at last, and how 
good of you to let me come here !” and she bent 
over and kissed the stern, unresponsive face with 
an enthusiasm delightful to behold. 

“This is Louise, I suppose,” said Aunt Jane, 
stiffly. “You are welcome to Elmhurst.” 

“Tell me how you are,” continued the girl, 
kneeling beside the chair and taking the with- 
ered hands gently in her own. “Do you suffer 
any? And are you getting better, dear aunt, 

76 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


in this beautiful garden with the birds and the 
sunshine?” 

“Get up,” said the elder woman, roughly. 
“You’re spoiling your gown.” 

Louise laughed gaily. 

“Never mind the gown,” she answered. 
“Tell me about yourself. I’ve been so anxious 
since your last letter.” 

Aunt Jane’s countenance relaxed a trifle. To 
speak of her broken health always gave her a 
sort of grim satisfaction. 

“I’m dying, as you can plainly see,” she an- 
nounced. “My days are numbered, Louise. If 
you stay long enough you can gather wild 
flowers for my coffin.” 

Louise flushed a trifle. A bunch of butter- 
cups and forget-me-nots was fastened to her 
girdle, and she had placed a few marguerites in 
her hair. 

“Don’t laugh at these poor things !” she said, 
deprecatingly. “I’m so fond of flowers, and we 
find none growing wild in the cities, you know.” 

Jane Merrick looked at her reflectively. 

“How old are you, Louise,” she asked. 


77 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Just seventeen, Aunt.” 

“I had forgotten you are so old as that. Let 
me see; Elizabeth cannot be more than fifteen.” 

“Elizabeth?” 

“Elizabeth De Graf, your cousin. She ar- 
rived at Elmhurst this morning, and will be your 
companion while you are here.” 

“That is nice,” said Louise. 

“I hope you will be friends.” 

“Why not, Aunt? I haven’t known much of 
my relations in the past, you know, so it pleases 
me to find an aunt and a cousin at the same time. 
I am sure I shall love you both. Let me fix 
your pillow — you do not seem comfortable. 
There! Isn’t that better?” patting the pillow 
deftly. “I’m afraid you have needed more loving 
care than a paid attendant can give you,” glanc- 
ing at old Martha Phibbs, who stood some paces 
away, and lowering her voice that she might not 
be overheard. “But for a time, at least, I mean 
to be your nurse, and look after your wants. 
You should have sent for me before, Aunt Jane.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself; Phibbs knows my 
ways, and does all that is required,” said the in- 

78 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


valid, rather testily. “Run away, now, Louise. 
The housekeeper will show you to your room. 
It’s opposite Elizabeth’s, and you will do well to 
make her acquaintance at once. I shall expect 
you both to dine with me at seven.” 

“Can’t I stay here a little longer?” pleaded 
Louise. “We haven’t spoken two words to- 
gether, as yet, and I’m not a bit tired or anxious 
to go to my room. What a superb oleander this 
is! Is it one of your favorites, Aunt Jane?” 

“Run away,” repeated the woman. “I want 
to be alone.” 

The girl sighed and kissed her again, strok- 
ing the gray hair softly with her white hand. 

“Very well; I’ll go,” she said. “But I don’t 
intend to be treated as a strange guest, dear 
Aunt, for that would drive me to return home at 
once. You are my father’s eldest sister, and I 
mean to make you love me, if you will give me 
the least chance to do so.” 

She looked around her, enquiringly, and 
Aunt Jane pointed a bony finger at the porch. 

“That is the way. Phibbs will take you to 


79 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Misery, the housekeeper, and then return to me. 
Remember, I dine promptly at seven.” 

“I shall count the minutes,” said Louise, and 
with a laugh and a graceful gesture of adieu, 
turned to follow Martha into the house. 

Jane Merrick looked after her with a puzzled 
expression upon her face. 

“Were she in the least sincere,” she mut- 
tered, “Louise might prove a very pleasant com- 
panion. But she’s not sincere ; she’s coddling me 
to win my money, and if I don’t watch out she’ll 
succeed. The girl’s a born diplomat, and 
weighed in the balance against sincerity, diplo- 
macy will often tip the scales. I might do worse 
than to leave Elmhurst to a clever woman. But 
I don’t know Beth yet. I’ll wait and see which 
girl is the most desirable, and give them each an 
equal chance.” 


80 


CHAPTER IX. 


COUSINS. 

“Come in,” called Beth, answering a knock 
at her door. 

Louise entered, and with a little cry ran for- 
ward and caught Beth in her arms, kissing her 
in greeting. 

“You must be my new cousin — Cousin Eliza- 
beth — and I’m awfully glad to see you at last!” 
she said, holding the younger girl a little away, 
that she might examine her carefully. 

Beth did not respond to the caress. She eyed 
her opponent sharply, for she knew well enough, 
even in that first moment, that they were en- 
gaged in a struggle for supremacy in Aunt Jane’s 
affections, and that in the battles to come no 
quarter could be asked or expected. 

So they stood at arm’s length, facing one an- 


81 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

other and secretly forming an estimate each of 
the: other’s advantages and accomplishments. 

“She’s pretty enough, but has no style what- 
ever,” Was Louise’s conclusion. “Neither has 
she tact nor self-possession, or even a preposses- 
sing manner. She wears her new gown in a 
dowdy manner and one can read her face 
easily. There’s little danger in this quarter, I’m 
sure, so I may as well be friends with the poor 
child.” 

As for Beth, she saw at once that her “new 
cousin” was older and more experienced in the 
ways of the world, and therefore liable to prove 
a dangerous antagonist. Slender and graceful 
of form, attractive of feature and dainty in man- 
ner, Louise must be credited with many advant- 
ages; but against these might be weighed her 
evident insincerity — the volubility and gush 
that are so often affected to hide one’s real na- 
ture, and which so shrewd and suspicious a wo- 
man as Aunt Jane could not fail to readily de- 
tect. Altogether, Beth was not greatly disturbed 

by her cousin’s appearance, and suddenly realiz- 

/ 

82 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ing that they had been staring at one another 
rather rudely, she said, pleasantly enough: 

“Won’t you sit down?” 

“Of course; we must get acquainted,” re- 
plied Louise, gaily, and perched herself cross- 
legged upon the window-seat, surrounded by a 
mass of cushions. 

“I didn’t know you were here, until an hour 
ago,” she continued. “But as soon as Aunt Jane 
told me I ran to my room, unpacked and settled 
the few traps I brought with me, and here I am — 
prepared for a good long chat and to love you 
just as dearly as you will let me.” 

“I knew you were coming, but not until this 
morning,” answered Beth, slowly. “Perhaps 
had I known, I would not have accepted our 
Aunt’s invitation.” 

“Ah! Why not?” enquired the other, as if 
in wonder. 

Beth hesitated. 

“Have you known Aunt Jane before to- 
day?” she asked. 

“No.” 

“Nor I. The letter asking me to visit her 

83 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES/ 

was the first I have ever received from her. 
Even my mother, her own sister, does not cor- 
respond with her. I was brought up to hate her 
very name, as a selfish, miserly old woman. But, 
since she asked me to visit her, we judged she 
had softened and might wish to become friendly, 
and so I accepted the invitation. I had no idea 
you were also invited.” 

“But why should you resent my being here?” 
Louise asked, smiling. “Surely, two girls will 
have a better time in this lonely old place than 
one could have alone. For my part, I am de- 
lighted to find you at Elmhurst.” 

“Thank you,” said Beth. “That’s a nice thing 
to say, but I doubt if it’s true. Don’t let’s beat 
around the bush. I hate hypocrisy, and if we’re 
going to be friends let’s be honest with one an- 
other from the start.” 

“Well?” queried Louise, evidently amused. 

“It’s plain to me that Aunt Jane has invited 
us here to choose which one of us shall inherit 
her money — and Elmhurst. She’s old and feeble, 
and she hasn’t any other relations.” 

“Oh, yes, she has” corrected Louise. 

84 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“You mean Patricia Doyle?” 

“Yes.” 

“What do you know of her?” 

“Nothing at all.” 

“Where does she live?” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

Louise spoke as calmly as if she had not 
mailed Patricia’s defiant letter to Aunt Jane, or 
discovered her cousin’s identity in the little hair- 
dresser from Madame Borne’s establishment. 

“Has Aunt Jane mentioned her?” continued 
Beth. 

“Not in my presence.” 

“Then we may conclude she’s left out of the 
arrangement,” said Beth, calmly. “And, as I 
said, Aunt Jane is likely to choose one of us to 
succeed her at Elmhurst. I hoped I had it all 
my own way, but it’s evident I was mistaken. 
You’ll fight for your chance and fight mighty 
hard!” 

Louise laughed merrily. 

“How funny!” she exclaimed, after a mo- 
ment during during which Beth frowned at her 

85 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

darkly. “Why, my dear cousin, I don’t want 
Aunt Jane’s money.” 

“You don’t?” 

“Not a penny of it; nor Elmhurst; nor any- 
thing you can possibly lay claim to, my dear. 
My mother and I are amply provided for, and I 
am only here to find rest from my social duties 
and to get acquainted with my dead father’s sis- 
ter. That is all.” 

“Oh !” said Beth, lying back in her chair with 
a sigh of relief. 

“So it was really a splendid idea of yours to 
be frank with me at our first meeting,” continued 
Louise, cheerfully; “for it has led to your learn- 
ing the truth, and I am sure you will never again 
grieve me by suggesting that I wish to supplant 
you in Aunt Jane’s favor. Now tell me something 
about yourself and your people. Are you poor?” 

“Poor as poverty,” said Beth, gloomily. 
“My father teaches music, and mother scolds 
him continually for not being able to earn enough 
money to keep out of debt.” 

“Hasn’t Aunt Jane helped you?” 

“We’ve never seen a cent of her money, al- 

86 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


though father has tried at times to borrow enough 
to help him out of his difficulties.” 

“That’s strange. She seems like such a dear 
kindly old lady,” said Louise, musingly. 

“I think she’s horrid,” answered Beth, an- 
grily; “but I mustn’t let her know it. I even 
kissed her, when she asked me to, and it sent a 
shiver all down my back.” 

Louise laughed with genuine amusement. 

“You must dissemble, Cousin Elizabeth,” she 
advised, “and teach our aunt to love you. For 
my part, I am fond of everyone, and it delights 
me to fuss around invalids and assist them. I 
ought to have been a trained nurse, you know; 
but of course there’s no necessity of my earn- 
ing a living.” 

“I suppose not,” said Beth. Then, after a 
thoughtful silence, she resumed abruptly ; 
“What’s to prevent Aunt Jane leaving you her 
property, even if you are rich, and don’t need it? 
You say you like to care for invalids, and I don’t. 
Suppose Aunt Jane prefers you to me, and wills 
you all her money?” 

“Why, that would be beyond my power to 

87 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


prevent,” answered Louise, with a little yawn. 

Beth’s face grew hard again. 

"You’re deceiving me,” she declared, angrily. 
“Your’re trying to make me think you don’t 
want Elmhurst, when you’re as anxious to get 
it as I am.” 

"My dear Elizabeth — by the way, that’s an 
awfully long name; what do they call you, Liz- 
zie, or Bessie, or — ” 

"They call me Beth,” sullenly. 

"Then, my dear Beth, let me beg you not to 
borrow trouble, or to doubt one who wishes to 
be your friend. Elmhurst would be a perfect 
bore to me. I wouldn’t know what to do with 
it. I couldn’t live in this out-of-the-way corner 
pf the world, you know.” 

"But suppose she leaves it to you?” persisted 
Beth. "You wouldn’t refuse it, I imagine.” 

Louise seemed to meditate. 

"Cousin,” she said, at length, "I’ll make a 
bargain with you. I can’t refuse to love and pet 
Aunt Jane, just because she has money and my 
sweet cousin Beth is anxious to inherit it. But 
I’ll not interfere in any way with your chances, 

88 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and I’ll promise to sing your praises to our aunt 
persistently. Furthermore, in case she selects 
me as her heir, I will agree to transfer half of 
the estate to you — the half that consists of Elm- 
hurst.” 

“Is there much more ?” asked Beth. 

“I haven’t any list of Aunt Jane’s possessions, 
so I don’t know. But you shall have Elmhurst, 
if I get it, because the place would be of no use 
to me.” 

“It’s a magnificent estate,” said Beth, look- 
ing at her cousin doubtfully. 

“It shall be yours, dear, whatever Aunt Jane 
decides. See, this is a compact, and I’ll seal it 
with a kiss.” 

She sprang up and, kneeling beside Beth, 
kissed her fervently. 

“Now shall we be friends?” she asked, light- 
ly. “Now will you abandon all those naughty 
suspicions and let me love you?” 

Beth hesitated. The suggestion seemed pre- 
posterous. Such generosity savored of play act- 
ing, and Louise’s manner was too airy to be gen- 
uine. Somehow she felt that she was being 

89 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

laughed at by this slender, graceful girl, who was 
scarcely older than herself ; but she was too un- 
sophisticated to know how to resent it. Louise 
insisted upon warding off her enmity, or at least 
establishing a truce, and Beth, however suspic- 
ious and ungracious, could find no way of reject- 
ing the overtures. 

“Were I in your place,” she said, “I would 
never promise to give up a penny of the inheri- 
tance. If I win it, I shall keep it all.” 

“To be sure. I should want you to, my dear.” 

“Then, since we have no cause to quarrel, 
we may as well become friends,” continued Beth, 
her features relaxing a little their set expression. 

Louise laughed again, ignoring the other’s 
brusqueness, and was soon chatting away pleas- 
antly upon other subjects and striving to draw 
Beth out of her natural reserve. 

The younger girl had no power to resist such 
fascinations. Louise knew the big world, and 
talked of it with charming naivete, and Beth lis- 
tened rapturously. Such a girl friend it had 
never been her privilege to have before, and when 


90 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


her suspicions were forgotten she became fairly 
responsive, and brightened wonderfully. 

They dressed in time for dinner, and met 
Aunt Jane and Silas Watson, the lawyer, in the 
great drawing-room. The old gentleman was 
very attentive and courteous during the stately 
dinner, and did much to relieve the girls’ embar- 
rassment. Louise, indeed, seemed quite at home 
in her new surroundings, and chatted most viva- 
ciously during the meal; but Aunt Jane was 
strangely silent, and Beth had little to say and 
seemed awkward and ill at ease. 

The old lady retired to her own room shortly 
after dinner, and presently sent a servant to re- 
quest Mr. Watson to join her. 

“Silas,” she said, when he entered, “what do 
you think of my niece ?” 

“They are very charming girls,” he answered, 
“although they are at an age when few girls show 
to good advantage. Why did you not invite 
Kenneth to dinner, Jane?” 

“The boy?” 

“Yes. They would be more at ease in the 
9i 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

society of a young gentleman more nearly their 
own age.” 

“Kenneth is a bear. He is constantly say- 
ing disagreeable things. In other words, he is 
not gentlemanly, and the girls shall have nothing 
to do with him.” 

“Very well,” said the lawyer, quietly. 

“Which of my nieces do you prefer?” asked 
the old lady, after a pause. 

“I cannot say, on so short an acquaintance,” 
he answered, with gravity. “Which do you pre- 
fer, Jane?” 

“They are equally unsatisfactory,” she an- 
swered. “I cannot imagine Elmhurst belonging 
to either, Silas.” Then she added, with an 
abrupt change of manner: “You must go to 
New York for me, at once.” 

“Tonight?” 

“No; tomorrow morning. I must see that 
other niece — the one who defies me and refuses 
to answer my second letter.” 

“Patricia Doyle?” 

“Yes. Find her and argue with her. Tell 
her I am a crabbed old woman with a whim to 


92 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


know her, and that I shall not die happy unless 
she comes to Elmhurst. Bribe her, threaten her 
— kidnap her if necessary, Silas; but get her to 
Elmhurst as quickly as possible.” 

‘Til do my best, Jane. But why are you so 
anxious ?” 

“My time is drawing near, old friend,” she 
replied, less harshly than usual, “and this matter 
of my will lies heavily on my conscience. What 
if I should die tonight?” 

He did not answer. 

“There would be a dozen heirs to fight for 
my money, and dear old Elmhurst would be sold 
to strangers,” she resumed, with bitterness. “But 
I don’t mean to cross over just yet, Silas, even if 
one limb is dead already. I shall hang on until 
I get this matter settled, and I can’t settle it 
properly without seeing all three of my nieces. 
One of these is too hard, and the other too soft. 
I’ll see what Patricia is like.” 

“She may prove even more undesirable,” said 
the lawyer. 

“In that case. I’ll pack her back again and 
choose between these two. But you must fetch 


93 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


her, Silas, that I may know just what I am doing. 
And you must fetch her at once!” 

‘Til do the best I can, Jane,” repeated the old 
lawyer. 


94 


CHAPTER X. 


THE MAN WITH THE BUNDLE. 

In the harness-room above the stable sat Dun- 
can Muir, the coachman and most important ser- 
vant, with the exception of the head gardener, 
in Miss Merrick’s establishment. Duncan, bald- 
headed but with white and bushy side-whiskers, 
was engaged in the serious business of oiling and 
polishing the state harness, which had not been 
used for many months past. But that did not 
matter. Thursday was the day for oiling the 
harness, and so on Thursday he performed the 
task, never daring to entrust a work so import- 
ant to a subordinate. 

In one corner of the little room Kenneth 
Forbes squatted upon a bench, with an empty 
pine box held carelessly in his lap. While Dun- 


95 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

can worked the boy was busy with his pencil, 
but neither had spoken for at least a half hour. 

Finally the aged coachman, without looking 
up, enquired: 

“What do ye think o’ ’em, Kenneth lad?” 

“Think o’ whom, Don?” 

“The young leddies.” 

“What young ladies?” 

“Miss Jane’s nieces, as Oscar brought from 
the station yesterday.” 

The boy looked astonished, and leaned over 
the box in his lap eagerly. 

“TH1 me, Don,” he said. “I was away with 
my gun all yesterday, and heard nothing of it.” 

“Why, it seems Miss Jane’s invited ’em to 
make her a visit.” 

“But not yet, Don! Not so soon.” 

“Na’theless, they’re here.” 

“How many, Don?”' 

“Two, lad. A bonny young thing came on the 
morning train, an’ a nice, wide-awake one by 
the two o’clock.” 

“Girls?” with an accent of horror. 


96 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Young females, anyhow/’ said Donald, pol- 
ishing a buckle briskly. 

The boy glared at him fixedly. 

“Will they be running about the place, Don?” 

“Most likely. ’Twould be a shame to shut 
them up with the poor missus this glad weather. 
But why not? They’ll be company for ye, Ken- 
neth lad.” 

“How long will they stay?” 

“Mebbe for aye. Oscar forbys one or the 
ither o’ ’em will own the place when Miss Jane 
gi’es up the ghost.” 

The boy sat silent a moment, thinking upon 
this speech. Then, with a cry that was almost a 
scream, he dashed the box upon the floor and 
flew out the door as if crazed, and Donald paused 
to listen to his footsteps clattering down the 
stairs. 

Then the old man groaned dismally, shaking 
his side-whiskers with a negative expression that 
might have conveyed worlds of meaning to one 
able to interpret it. But his eye fell upon the 
pine box, which had rolled to his feet, and he 
stooped to pick it up. Upon the smoothly planed 


97 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


side was his own picture, most deftly drawn, 
showing him engaged in polishing the harness. 
Every strap and buckle was depicted with rare 
ridelity; there was no doubt at all of the sponge 
and bottle on the stool beside him, or the cloth 
in his hand. Even his bow spectacles rested upon 
the bridge of his nose at exactly the right angle, 
and his under lip protruded just as it had done 
since he was a lad. 

Donald was not only deeply impressed by 
such an exhibition of art; he was highly grati- 
fied at being pictured, and full of wonder that 
the boy could do such a thing : “wi’ a wee pen- 
cil an’ a bit o’ board!” He turned the box this 
way and that to admire the sketch, and finally 
arose and brought a hatchet, with which he care- 
fully pried the board away from the box. Then 
he carried his treasure to a cupboard, where he 
hid it safely behind a row of tall bottles. 

Meantime Kenneth had reached the stable, 
thrown a bridle over the head of a fine sorrel 
mare, and scorning to use a saddle leaped upon 
her back and dashed down the lane and out at 
the rear gate upon the old turnpike road. 

98 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


His head was whirling with amazement, his 
heart full of indignation. Girls! Girls at Elm- 
hurst — nieces and guests of the fierce old woman 
he so bitterly hated! Then, indeed, his days of 
peace and quiet were ended. These dreadful 
creatures would prowl around everywhere; they 
might even penetrate the shrubbery to the foot 
of the stairs leading to his own retired room; 
they would destroy his happiness and drive him 
mad. 

For this moody, silent youth had been strange- 
ly happy in his life at Elmhurst, despite the neg- 
lect of the grim old woman who was its mis- 
tress and the fact that no one aside from Lawyer 
Watson seemed to care whether he lived or died. 

Perhaps Donald did. Good old Don was 
friendly and seldom bothered him bv talking. 
Perhaps old Misery liked him a bit, also. But 
these were only servants, and almost as help- 
less and dependent as himself. 

Still, he had been happy. He began to real- 
ize it, now that these awful girls had come to 
disturb his peace. The thought filled him with 
grief and rebellion and resentment; yet there 


99 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 

was nothing he could do to alter the fact that 
Donald’s “young females” were already here, 
and prepared, doubtless, to stay. 

The sorrel was dashing down the road at a 
great pace, but the boy clung firmly to his seat 
and gloried in the breeze that fanned his hot 
cheeks. Away and away he raced until he 
reached the crossroads, miles away, and down 
this he turned and galloped as recklessly as be- 
fore. The sun was hot, today, and the sorrel’s 
flanks begun to steam and show flecks of white 
upon their glossy surface. He turned again to 
the left, entering upon a broad highway that 
would lead him straight home at last ; but he had 
almost reached the little village of Elmwood, 
which was the railway station, before he realized 
his cruelty to the splendid mare he bestrode. Then 
indeed, he fell to a walk, patting Nora’s neck af- 
fectionately and begging her to forgive him for 
his thoughtlessness. The mare tossed her head 
in derision. However she might sweat and pant, 
she liked the glorious pace even better than her 
rider. 

Through the village he paced moodily, the 


ioo 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


bridle dangling loosely on the mare’s neck. The 
people paused to look at him curiously, but he 
had neither word nor look for any. 

He did not know one of them by name, and 
cared little how much they might speculate upon 
his peculiar position at “the big house.” 

Then, riding slowly up the hedge bordered 
road, his troubles once more assailed him, and 
he wondered if there was not some spot upon the 
broad earth to which he could fly for retirement 
until the girls had left Elmhurst for good. 

Nora shied, and he looked up to discover that 
he had nearly run down a pedestrian — a stout 
little man with a bundle under his arm, who held 
up one hand as if to arrest him. 

Involuntarily he drew rein, and stopped be- 
side the traveler with a look of inquiry. 

“Sorry to trouble you, sir,” remarked the lit- 
tle man, in a cheery voice, “but I ain’t just cer- 
tain about my way.” 

“Where do you want to go?” asked the boy. 

“To Jane Merrick’s place. They call it Elm- 
hurst, I guess.” 

“It’s straight ahead,” said Kenneth, as the 
IOI 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

mare walked on. His questioner also started and 
paced beside him. 

“Far from here?” 

“A mile, perhaps.” 

“They said it was three from the village, but 
I guess I’ve come a dozen a’ready.” 

The boy did not reply to this. There was 
nothing offensive in the man’s manner. He spoke 
with an easy familiarity that made it difficult not 
to respond with equal frank cordiality, and there 
was a shrewd expression upon his wrinkled, 
smooth-shaven face that stamped him a man who 
had seen life in many of its phases. 

Kenneth, who resented the companionship of 
most people, seemed attracted by the man, and 
hesitated to gallop on and leave him. 

“Know Jane Merrick?” asked the stranger. 

The boy nodded. 

“Like her?” 

“I hate her,” he said, savagely. 

The man laughed, a bit uneasily. 

“Then it’s the same Jane as ever,” he respond- 
ed, with a shake of his grizzled head. “Do you 
know, I sort o’ hoped she’d reformed, and I’d 


102 



“Then it’s the same Jane as ever 




» 










AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

be glad to see her again. They tell me she’s got 
money.” 

The boy looked at him in surprise. 

“She owns Elmhurst, and has mortgages on 
a dozen farms around here, and property in New 
York, and thousands of dollars in the bank,” he 
said. “Aunt Jane’s rich.” 

“Aunt Jane?” echoed the man, quickly. 
“What’s your name, lad?” 

“Kenneth Forbes.” 

A shake of the head. 

“Don’t recollect any Forbeses in the family.” 

“She isn’t really my aunt,” said the boy, “and 
she doesn’t treat me as an aunt, either; blit she’s 
my guardian, and I’ve always called her Aunt, 
rather than say Miss Merrick.” 

“She’s never married, has she?” 

“No. She was engaged to my Uncle Tom, 
who owned Elmhurst. He was killed in a rail- 
way accident, and then it was found he’d left 
her all he had.” 

“I see.” 

“So, when my parents died, Aunt Jane took 


103 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

me for Uncle Toni’s sake, and keeps me out of 
charity.” 

“I see.” Quite soberly, this time. 

The boy slid off the mare and walked be- 
side the little man, holding the bridle over his 
arm. They did not speak again for some mo- 
ments. 

Finally the stranger asked : 

“Are Jane’s sisters living — Julia and Violet?” 

“I don’t know. But there are two of her 
nieces at Elmhurst.” 

“Ha! Who are they?” 

“Girls,” with bitterness. “I haven’t seen 
them.” 

The stranger whistled. 

“Don’t like girls, I take it?” 

“No; I hate them.” 

Another long pause. Then the boy suddenly 
turned questioner. 

“You know Aunt — Miss Merrick, sir?” 

. “I used to, when we were both younger.” 

“Any relation, sir?” 

“Just a brother, that’s all.” 

Kenneth stopped short, and the mare stopped, 


104 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and the little man, with a whimsical smile at the 
boy’s astonishment, also stopped. 

“I didn’t know she had a brother, sir — that is, 
living.” 

“She had two; but Will’s dead, years ago. 
I’m told. I’m the other.” 

“John Merrick?” 

“That’s me. I went west a long time ago; 
before you w*ere born, I guess. We don’t get 
much news on the coast, so I sort of lost track 
of the folks back east, and I reckon they lost 
track of me, for the same reason.” 

“You were the tinsmith?” 

“The same. Bad pennies always return, they 
say. I’ve come back to look up the family and 
find how many are left. Curious sort of a job, 
isn’t it.” 

“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s natural,” replied 
the boy, reflectively. “But I’m sorry you came 
to Aunt Jane first.” 

“Why?” 

“She’s in bad health — quite ill, you know — 
and her temper’s dreadful. Perhaps she — she — ” 

“I know. But I haven’t seen her in years; 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and, after all, she’s my sister. And back at the 
old home, where I went first, no one knew any- 
thing about what had become of the family ex- 
cept Jane. They kept track of her because she 
suddenly became rich, and a great lady, and that 
was a surprising thing to happen to a Merrick. 
We’ve always been a poor lot, you know.” 

“The boy glanced at the bundle, pityingly, 
and the little man caught the look and smiled his 
sweet, cheery smile. 

“My valise was too heavy to carry,” he said; 
“so I wrapped up a few things in case Jane 
wanted me to stay over night. And that’s why 
I didn’t get a horse at the livery, you know. 
Somebody’d have to take it back again.” 

“I’m sure she’ll ask you to stay, sir. And if 
she doesn’t, you come out to the stable and let 
me know, and Ell drive you to town again. Don- 
ald — that’s the coachman — is my friend, and he’ll 
let me have the horse if I ask him.” 

“Thank you, lad,” returned the man, grate- 
fully. “I thought a little exercise would do me 
good, but this three miles has seemed like thirty 
tc me!” 

106 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“We’re here at last/’ said the boy, turning 
into the drive-way. “Seeing that you’re her 
brother, sir, I advise you to go right up to the 
front door and ring the bell.” 

“I will,” said the man. 

“I always go around the back way, myself.” 

“I see.” 

The boy turned away, but in a moment halted 
again. His interest in Miss Jane’s brother John 
was extraordinary. 

“Another thing,” he said, hesitating. 

“Well?” 

“You’d better not say you met me, you know. 
It wouldn’t be a good introduction. She hates 
me as much as I hate her.” 

“Very good, my lad. I’ll keep mum.” 

The boy nodded, and turned away to lead 
Nora to the stable. The man looked after him 
a moment, and shook his head, sadly. 

“Poor boy!” he whispered. 

Then he walked up to the front door and rang 
the bell. 


107 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE MAD GARDENER. 

“This seems to be a lazy place,” said Louise, 
as she stood in the doorway of Beth’s room to 
bid her good night. “I shall sleep until late in the 
morning, for I don’t believe Aunt Jane will be 
on exhibition before noon.” 

“At home I always get up at six o’clock,” 
answered Beth. 

“Six o’clock! Good gracious! What for?” 

“To study my lessons and help get the break- 
fast.” 

“Don’t you keep a maid?” 

“No,” said Beth, rather surlily; “we have 
hard work to keep ourselves.” 

“But you must be nearly through with school 
by this time. I finished my education ages ago.” 

“Did you graduate?” asked Beth. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“No; it wasn’t worth while,” declared Louise, 
complacently. “I’m sure I know as much as most 
girls do, and there are more useful lessons to be 
learned from real life than from books.” 

“Good night,” said Beth. 

“Good night,” answered the older girl, and 
shut the door behind her. 

Beth sat for a time moodily thinking. She 
did not like the way in which her cousin assumed 
superiority over her. The difference in their ages 
did not account for the greater worldly wisdom 
Louise had acquired, and in much that she said 
and did Beth recognized a shrewdness and ex- 
perience that made her feel humbled and, in a 
way, inferior to her cousin. Nor did she trust 
the friendship Louise expressed for her. 

Somehow, nothing that the girl said seemed 
to ring true, and Beth already, in her mind, 
accused her of treachery and insincerity. 

As a matter of fact, however, she failed to 
understand her cousin. Louise really loved to 
be nice to people, and to say nice things. It is 
true she schemed and intrigued to advance her 
personal welfare and position in life; but even 

109 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


her schemes were undertaken lightly and care- 
lessly, and if they failed the girl would be the 
first to laugh at her disappointment and try to 
mend her fortunes. If others stood in her way 
she might not consider them at all ; if she pledged 
her word, it might not always be profitable to 
keep it ; but she liked to be on pleasant terms with 
everyone, and would be amiable to the last, no 
matter what happened. Comedy was her forte, 
rather than tragedy. If tragedy entered her life 
she would probably turn it into ridicule. Wholly 
without care, whimsical and generous to a de- 
gree, if it suited her mood, Louise Merrick pos- 
sessed a nature capable of great things, either for 
good or ill. 

It was no wonder her unsophisticated country 
cousin failed to comprehend her, although Beth’s 
intuition was not greatly at fault. 

Six o’clock found Beth wide awake, as usual ; 
so she quietly dressed and, taking her book un- 
der her arm, started to make her way into the 
gardens. Despite Louise’s cynicism she had no 
intention of abandoning her studies. She had 
decided to fit herself for a teacher before Aunt 


no 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Jane’s invitation had come to her, and this am- 
bition would render it necessary for her to study 
hard during vacations. 

If she became an heiress she would not need 
to teach, but she was not at all confident of her 
prospects, and the girl’s practical nature prompted 
her to carry out her plans until she was sure of 
the future. 

In the hall she met Phibbs, shuffling along as 
if in pain. 

“Good morning, miss,” said the old servant. 

Beth looked at her thoughtfully. This was 
Aunt Jane’s special and confidential attendant. 

“Do your feet hurt you?” she asked. 

“Yes, miss; in the mornin’ they’s awful bad. 
It’s being on ’em all the day, ’tendin’ to Miss 
Jane, you know. But after a time I gets more 
used to the pain, and don’t feel it. The mornin’s 
always the worst.” 

She was passing on, but Beth stopped her. 

“Come into my room,” she said, and led the 
way. 

Martha Phibbs followed reluctantly. Miss 
Jane might already be awake and demanding her 


hi 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

services, and she could not imagine what the 
young lady wanted her for. 

But she entered the room, and Beth went to 
a box and brought out a bottle of lotion. 

“Mother has the same trouble that you com- 
plain of,” she said, practically, “and here is a 
remedy that always gives her relief. I brought 
it with me in case I should take long tramps, and 
get sore feet.” 

She gently pushed the old woman into a chair, 
and then, to Phibbs’ utter amazement, knelt down 
and unfastened her shoes and drew off her stock- 
ings. A moment later she was rubbing the lotion 
upon the poor creature’s swollen feet, paying no 
attention to Martha’s horrified protests. 

“There. Now they’re sure to feel better,” 
said Beth, pulling the worn and darned stockings 
upon the woman’s feet again. “And you must 
take this bottle to your room, and use it every 
night and morning.” 

“Bless your dear heart!” cried Phibbs, while 
tears of gratitude stood in her faded eyes. “I’m 
sure I feel twenty years younger, a’ ready. But 


1 12 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

you shouldn’t ‘a’ done it, miss ; indeed you 
shouldn’t.” 

“I’m glad to help you,” said Beth, rinsing 
her hands at the wash stand and drying them 
upon a towel. “It would be cruel to let you suf- 
fer when I can ease your pain.” 

“But what would Miss Jane say?” wailed 
old Martha, throwing up her hands in dismay. 

“She’ll never know a thing about it. It’s 
our secret, Martha, and I’m sure if I ever need 
a friend you’ll do as much for me.” 

“I’ll do anything for you, Miss Elizabeth,” 
was the reply, as the woman took the bottle of 
lotion and departed. 

Beth smiled. 

“That was not a bad thought,” she said to 
herself, again starting for the gardens. “I have 
made a firm friend and done a kindly action at the 
same time — and all while Cousin Louise is fast 
asleep.” 

The housekeeper let her out at the side door, 
after Beth had pressed her hand and kissed her 
good morning. 

“You’re looking quite bonny, my dear,” said 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES, 
the old woman. “Do you feel at home, at all, in 
this strange place?” 

“Not quite, as yet,” answered Beth. “But 
I know I have one good friend here, and that 
comforts me.” 

She found a path between high hedges, that 
wandered away through the grounds, and along 
this she strolled until she reached a rose arbor 
with a comfortable bench. 

Here she seated herself, looking around her 
curiously. The place seemed little frequented, 
but was kept with scrupulous care. Even at this 
hour, a little way off could be heard the “click- 
click!” of hedge-shears, and Beth noted how 
neatly the paths were swept, and how carefully 
every rose on the arbor was protected. 

Elmhurst was a beautiful place. Beth sighed 
as she wondered if it would ever be hers. Then 
she opened her book and began to work. 

During the next hour the click of the hedge- 
shears drew nearer, but the girl did not notice 
this. In another half hour James himself came 
into view, intent upon his monotonous task. Grad- 
ually the motionless form of the girl and the plod- 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ding figure of the gardener drew together, until 
he stood but two yards distant. Then he paused, 
looked toward the arbor, and uttered an excla- 
mation. 

Beth looked up. 

“Good morning,” she said, pleasantly. 

James stared at her, but made no reply save 
a slight inclination of his head. 

“Am I in your way?” she asked. 

He turned his back to her, then, and began 
clipping away as before. Beth sprang up and 
laid a hand upon his arm, arresting him. Again 
he turned to stare at her, and in his eyes was a 
look almost of fear. 

She drew back. 

“Why won’t you speak to me?” enquired the 
girl, gently. “I’m a stranger at Elmhurst, but 
I want to be your friend. Won’t you let me?” 

To her amazement James threw up his hands, 
letting the shears clatter to the ground, and with 
a hoarse cry turned and fled up the path as swift- 
ly as he could go. 

Beth was really puzzled, but as she stood si- 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

lently looking after the gardener she heard a soft 
laugh, and found old Misery beside her. 

“It’s just his way, Miss; don’t you be scared 
by anything that James does,” said the woman. 
“Why, at times he won’t even speak to Miss 
Jane.” 

“He isn’t dumb, is he?” asked Beth. 

“Lor’, no! But he’s that odd an’ contrary he 
won’t talk to a soul. Never did, since the day 
Master Tom was killed. James was traveling 
with Master Tom, you know, and there was an 
accident, ah’ the train run off’n the track an’ 
tipped over. James wasn’t hurt at all, but he 
dragged Master Tom out’n the wreck and sat by 
him until he died. Then James brought Master 
Tom’s body back home again; but his mind 
seemed to have got a shock, in some way, and 
he never was the same afterwards. He was 
powerful fond of young Master Tom. But then, 
we all was.” 

“Poor man!” said Beth. 

“After that,” resumed Misery, “all that James 
would do was to look after the flowers. Miss 
Jane, after she came, made him the head gard- 

116 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

ener, and he’s proved a rare good one, too. But 
James he won’t even talk to Miss Jane, nor even 
to his old friend Lawyer Watson, who used to 
be Master Tom’s special chum an’ comrade. He 
does his duty, and obeys all Miss Jane’s orders 
as faithful as can be ; but he won’t talk, an’ we’ve 
all give up tryin’ to make him.” 

“But why should I frighten him?” asked the 
girl. 

“You tried to make him talk, and you’re a 
stranger. Strangers always affect James that 
way. I remember when Miss Jane first came 
to Elmhurst he screamed at the sight of her; but 
when he found out that Master Tom loved her 
and had given her Elmhurst, James followed her 
around like a dog, and did everything she told 
him to. But breakfast is ready, Miss. I came to 
call you.” 

“Thank you,” said Beth, turning to walk be- 
side the housekeeper. 

According to Aunt Jane’s instructions the 
breakfast was served in her own room, and pres- 
ently Louise, dressed in a light silk kimona, came 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


in bearing her tray “to keep her cousin company,” 
she laughingly announced. 

“I should have slept an hour longer,” she 
yawned, over her chocolate, “but old Misery — 
who seems rightly named — insisted on waking 
me, just that I might eat. Isn’t this a funny es- 
tablishment?” 

“It’s different from everything I’m used to,” 
answered Beth, gravely; “but it seems very pleas- 
ant here, and everyone is most kind and atten- 
tive.” 

“Now I’ll dress,” said Louise, “and we’ll take 
a long walk together, and see the place.” 

So it happened that Kenneth clattered down 
the road on the sorrel mare just a moment before 
the girls emerged from the house, and while he 
was riding off his indignation at their presence at 
Elmhurst, they were doing just what his horri- 
fied imagination had depicted — that is, penetrat- 
ing to all parts of the grounds, to every nook in 
the spacious old gardens and even to the stables, 
where Beth endeavored to make a friend of old 
Donald the coachman. 

However, the gray-whiskered Scotsman was 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


not to be taken by storm, even by a pretty face. 
His loyalty to “the boy” induced him to be wary 
in associating with these strange “young females” 
and although he welcomed them to the stable 
with glum civility he withheld his opinion of 
them until he should know them better. 

In their rambles the girls found Kenneth’s 
own stair, and were sitting upon it when Phibbs 
came to summon Louise to attend upon Aunt 
Jane. 

She obeyed with alacrity, for she wished to 
know more of the queer relative whose guest she 
had become. 

“Sit down,” said Aunt Jane, very graciously, 
as the girl entered. 

Louise leaned over the chair, kissed her and 
patted her cheek affectionately, and then shook 
up the pillows to make them more comfortable. 

“I want you to talk to me,” announced Aunt 
Jane, “and to tell me something of the city and 
the society in which you live. I’ve been so long 
dead to the world that I’ve lost track of people 
and things.” 

“Let me dress your hair at the same time,” 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

said Louise, pleadingly. “It looks really frowsy, 
and I can talk while I work.” 

“I can’t lift my left hand,” said the invalid, 
flushing, “and Phibbs is a stupid ass.” 

“Never mind, I can make it look beautiful in 
half a jiffy,” said the girl, standing behind the 
chair and drawing deftly the hairpins from Aunt 
Jane’s scanty grey locks, “and you can’t imagine 
how it pleases me to fuss over anyone.” 

It was surprising how meekly Aunt Jane sub- 
mitted to this ordeal, but she plied the girl with 
many shrewd questions and Louise, busily work- 
ing in a position where the old woman could not 
see her face, never hesitated for an answer. She ' 
knew all the recent gossip of fashionable society, 
and retailed it glibly. She had met this celebrity 
at a ball and that one at a reception, and she de- 
scribed them minutely, realizing that Aunt Jane 
would never be in a position to contradict any as- 
sertion she might choose to make. 

Indeed, Aunt Jane was really startled. 

“However did your mother manage to gain 
an entree into society?” she asked. “Your father 


120 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


was a poor man and of little account. I know, 
for he was my own brother.” 

“He left us a very respectable life insurance,” 
said Louise, demurely, “and my mother had many 
friends who were glad to introduce us to good 
society when we were able to afford such a lux- 
ury. Father died twelve years ago, you know, 
and for several years, while I was at school, 
mother lived very quietly. Then she decided it 
was time I made my debut, but for the last sea- 
son we have been rather gay, I admit.” 

“Are you rich?” asked Aunt Jane, sharply. 

“Mercy, no!” laughed Louise, who had fin- 
ished her work and now sat her aunt’s feet. 
“But we have enough for our requirements, and 
that makes us feel quite independent. By the 
way, auntie, I want to return that check you sent 
me. It was awfully good and generous of you, 
but I didn’t need it, you know, and so I want 
you to take it back.” 

She drew the slip of paper from her pocket 
and pressed it into Aunt Jane’s hand. 

“It’s quite enough for you to give me this 
nice treat in the country,” resumed the girl, calm- 

121 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 


ly. “The change from the city will do me a world 
of good, and as I wanted to be quiet, and rest 
I declined all my other invitations for the sum- 
mer to accept yours. Isn’t it glorious that we can 
get acquainted at last? And I quite love Elm- 
hurst, already!” 

Aunt Jane was equally surprised and grati- 
fied. The return of the check for a hundred dol- 
lars was very pleasant. She had drawn a simi- 
lar check for each of her three nieces, believing 
that it would be necessary for her to meet their 
expenses, and she had considered the expenditure 
in the nature of a business transaction. But Pat- 
ricia had flung one check in her face, practically, 
and now Louise had voluntarily returned another, 
because she did not need the money. Really, 
Jane Merrick was accomplishing her purpose for 
less money than she had expected, and she had 
hoarded her wealth for so many years that she 
disliked to spend any of it foolishly. 

Louise had read her nature correctly. It had 
been a little hard to return so large a check, but 
the girl’s policy was not to appear before Aunt 
Jane as a poor relation, but rather as a young 


122 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


lady fitted by social education and position to be- 
come a gracious mistress of Elmhurst. This she 
believed would give her a powerful advantage 
over all competitors. 

Whether she was right or not in this surmise 
it is certain that she rose several points in Aunt 
Jane’s estimation during this interview, and when 
she was dismissed it was so graciously that she 
told herself the money her little plot had cost had 
been well expended. 

Afterward Elizabeth was summoned to attend 
her aunt. 

“I want to be amused. Can you read aloud ?” 
said the invalid. 

“Not very well, I’m afraid. But I’ll be glad 
to try,” answered Beth. “What do you like?” 

“Select your own book,” said Aunt Jane, 
pointing to a heap of volumes beside her. 

The girl hesitated. Louise would doubtless 
have chosen a romance, or some light tale sure 
to interest for the hour, and so amuse the old 
lady. But Beth erroneously judged that the aged 
and infirm love sober and scholarly books, and 


123 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


picked out a treatise that proved ineffably dull 
and tedious. 

Aunt Jane sniffed, and then smiled slyly and 
proceeded to settle herself for a nap. If the girl 
was a fool, let her be properly punished. 

Beth read for an hour, uncertain whether her 
aunt were intensely interested or really asleep. 
At the end of that dreadful period old Misery 
entered and aroused the sleeper without cere- 
mony. 

“What’s the matter?” asked Aunt Jane, quer- 
rulously, for she resented being disturbed. 

“There’s a man to see you, Miss.” 

“Send him about his business!” 

“But—” 

“I won’t see him, I tell you!” 

“But he says he’s your brother, Miss.” 

“Who?” 

“Your brother.” 

Miss Jane stared as if bewildered. 

“Your brother John, Miss.” 

The invalid sank back upon her cushions with 
a sigh of resignation. 

“I thought he was dead, long ago ; but if he’s 


124 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


alive I suppose I’ll have to see him,” she said. 
“Elizabeth, leave the room. Misery, send the 
man here!” 


CHAPTER XII. 


UNCLE JOHN GETS ACQUAINTED. 

Beth went out to find Louise, and discovered 
her standing near the stables, where a boy was 
rubbing down the sides of a sorrel mare with 
wisps of straw. 

“Something has happened/’ she said to Louise 
in a troubled voice. 

“What?” 

“A man has arrived who says he is Aunt 
Jane’s brother.” 

“Impossible! Have you seen him?” 

“No; he says he’s Aunt Jane’s brother John.” 

“Oh; I know. The peddler, or tinker, or 
something or other who disappeared years ago. 
But it doesn’t matter.” 

“It may matter a good deal,” said practical 
Beth. “Aunt Jane may leave him her money.” 

126 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Why, he’s older than she is. I’ve heard 
mother say he was the eldest of the family. Aunt 
Jane wont leave her money to an old man, you 
may be sure.” 

Beth felt a little reassured at this, and stood 
for a moment beside Louise watching the boy. 
Presently Oscar came to him, and after touch- 
ing his hat respectfully took the mare and led 
her into the stable. The boy turned away, with 
his hands in his pockets, and strolled up a path, 
unaware that the two dreaded girls had been 
observing him. 

“I wonder who that is,” said Beth. 

“We’ll find out,” returned Louise. “I took 
him for a stable boy, at first. But Oscar seemed 
to treat him as a superior.” 

She walked into the stable, followed by her 
cousin, and found the groom tying the mare. 

“Who was the young man?” she asked. 

“Which young man, Miss?” 

“The one who has just arrived with the 
horse.” 

“Oh ; that’s Master Kenneth, Miss,” answered 
Oscar, with a grin. 


127 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


‘‘Where did he come from?” 

“Master Kenneth ? Why, he lives here.” 

“At the house?” 

“Yes, Miss.” 

“Who is he?” 

“Master Tom’s nephew — he as used to own 
Elmhurst, you know.” 

“Mr. Thomas Bradley?” 

“The same. Miss.” 

“Ah. How long has Master Kenneth lived 
here?” 

“A good many years. I can’t just remember 
how long.” 

“Thank you, Oscar.” 

The girls walked away, and when they were 
alone Louise remarked : 

“Here is a more surprising discovery than 
Uncle John, Beth. The boy has a better right 
than any of us to inherit Elmhurst.” 

“Then why did Aunt Jane send for us?” 

“It’s a mystery, dear. Let us try to solve it.” 

“Come; we’ll ask the housekeeper,” said 
Beth. “I’m sure old Misery will tell us all we 
want to know.” 


128 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

So they returned to the house and, with little 
difficulty, found the old housekeeper. 

‘‘Master Kenneth?” she exclaimed. “Why, 
he’s just Master Tom’s nephew, that’s all.” 

“Is this his home?” asked Beth. 

“All the home he’s got, my dear. His father 
and mother are both dead, and Miss Jane took 
him to care for just because she thought Master 
Tom would ’a’ liked it.” 

“Is she fond of him?” enquired Louise. 

“Fond of the boy? Why, Miss Jane just 
hates him, for a fact. She won’t even see him, 
or have him near her. So he keeps to his little 
room in the left wing, and eats and sleeps there.” 

“It’s strange,” remarked Beth, thoughtfully. 
“Isn’t he a nice boy?” 

“We’re all very fond of Master Kenneth,” re- 
plied the housekeeper, simply. “But I’ll admit 
he’s a queer lad, and has a bad temper. It may 
be due to his lack of bringin’ up, you know ; for 
he just runs wild, and old Mr. Chase, who comes 
from the village to tutor him, is a poor lot, and 
lets the boy do as he pleases. For that reason he 
won’t study, and he won’t work, and I’m sure I 


129 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


don’t know whatever will become of him, when 
Miss Jane dies.” 

“Thank you,” said Beth, much relieved, and 
the girls walked away with lighter hearts. 

“There’s no danger in that quarter, after all,” 
said Louise, gaily. “The boy is a mere hanger- 
on. You see, Aunt Jane’s old sweetheart, Thom- 
as Bradley, left everything to her when he died, 
and she can do as she likes with it.” 

After luncheon, which they ate alone and un- 
attended save by the maid Susan, who was old 
Misery’s daughter, the girls walked away to the 
rose arbor, where Beth declared they could read 
or sew quite undisturbed. 

But sitting upon the bench they found a little 
old man, his legs extended, his hands thrust 
deep into his pockets, and a look of calm medita- 
tion upon his round and placid face. Between his 
teeth was a black brier pipe, which he puffed 
lazily. 

Beth was for drawing back, but Louise took 
her arm and drew her forward. 

“Isn’t this Uncle John?” she asked. 

The little man turned his eyes upon them, 


130 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


withdrew his hands from his pockets and his pipe 
from his mouth, and then bowed profoundly. 

“If you are my nieces, then I am Uncle John,” 
he said, affably. “Sit down, my dears, and let us 
get acquainted.” 

Louise smiled, and her rapid survey took in 
the man’s crumpled and somewhat soiled shirt- 
front, the frayed black necktie that seemed to 
have done years of faithful service, and the thick 
and dusty cow-hide boots. His clothing was old 
and much worn, and the thought crossed her 
mind that Oscar the groom was far neater in ap- 
pearance than this newly-found relative. 

Beth merely noticed that Uncle John was 
neither dignified nor imposing in appearance. She 
sat down beside him — leaving a wide space be- 
tween them — with a feeling of disappointment 
that he was “like all the rest of the Merricks.” 

r “You have just arrived, we hear,” remarked 
Louise. 

“Yes. Walked up from the station this fore- 
noon,” said Uncle John. “Come to see Jane, you 
know, but hadn’t any idea I’d find two nieces. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

Hadn’t any idea I possessed two nieces, to be 
honest about it.” 

“I believe you have three,” said Louise, in an 
amused tone. 

“Three? Who’s the other?” 

“Why, Patricia Doyle.” 

“Doyle? Doyle? Don’t remember the 
name.” 

“I believe your sister Violet married a man 
named Doyle.” 

“So she did. Captain Doyle — or Major Doyle 
— or some such fellow. But what is your name?” 

“I am Louise Merrick, your brother Will’s 
daughter.” 

“Oh! And you?” turning to Beth. 

“My mother was Julia Merrick,” said Beth, 
not very graciously. “She married Professor 
De Graf. I am Elizabeth De Graf.” 

“Yes, yes,” observed Uncle John, nodding 
his head. “I remember Julia very well, as a girl. 
She used to put on a lot of airs, and jaw father 
because he wouldn’t have the old top-buggy paint- 
ed every spring. Same now as ever, I s’pose?” 

Beth did not reply. 


132 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 


“And Will’s dead, and out of his troubles, I 
hope,” continued Uncle John, reflectively. “He 
wrote me once that his wife had nearly driven 
him crazy. Perhaps she murdered him in his 
sleep — eh, Louise?” 

“Sir,” said Louise, much offended, “you are 
speaking of my mother.” 

“Ah, yes. It’s the same one your father 
spoke of,” he answered, unmoved. “But that’s 
neither here nor there. The fact is, I’ve found 
two nieces,” looking shrewdly from one face into 
the other, “and I seem to be in luck, for you’re 
quite pretty and ladylike, my dears.” 

“Thank you,” said Louise, rather coldly. 
“You’re a competent judge, sir, I suppose.” 

“Tolerable,” he responded, with a chuckle. 
“So good a judge that I’ve kep’ single all my 
life.” 

“Where did you come from?” asked the girl. 

“From out on the coast,” tossing his griz- 
zled head toward the west. 

“What brought you back here, after all these 
years ?” 


133 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Family affection, I guess. Wanted to find 
out what folks yet belonged to me.” 

An awkward silence followed this, during 
which Uncle John relighted his pipe and Beth sat 
in moody silence. Louise drew a pattern in the 
gravel with the end of her parasol. This new 
uncle, she reflected, might become an intolerable 
bore, if she encouraged his frank familiarity. 

“Now that you are here,” she said, presently, 
“what are you going to do?” 

“Nothing, my dear.” 

“Have you any money?” 

He looked at her with a droll expression. 

“Might have expected that question, my 
dear,” said he; “but it’s rather hard to answer. 
r f I say no, you’ll be afraid I’ll want to borrow a 
little spendin’ money, now an’ then; and if I say 
yes, you’ll take me for a Rockyfeller.” 

“Not exactly,” smiled Louise. 

“Well, then, if I figure close I won’t have tc 
borrow,” he responded, gravely. “And here's 
Jane, my sister, just rolling in wealth that she 
don’t know what to do with. And she’s invited 


134 



“Have you any money?” 









AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


me to stay a while. So let’s call the money ques- 
tion settled, my dear.” 

Another silence ensued. Louise had satis- 
fied her curiosity concerning her new uncle, and 
Beth had never had any. There was nothing 
more to say, and as Uncle John showed no in- 
tention of abandoning the arbored seat, it was 
evident they must go themselves. Louise was 
about to rise when the man remarked : 

“Jane won’t last long”. 

“You think not?” she asked. 

“She says she’s half dead a’ready, and I be- 
lieve it. It’s about time, you know. She’s let 
her temper and restless disposition wear her out. 
Pretty soon she’ll blow out, like a candle. All 
that worries her is to keep alive until she can de- 
cide who to leave her money to. That’s why 
you’re here, I s’pose, my dears. How do you like 
being on exhibition, an’ goin’ through your paces, 
like a bunch o’ trotting hosses, to see which is 
worth the most?” 

“Uncle John,” said Beth, “I had hoped I 
would like you. But if you are going to be so 


135 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


very disagreeable, I’ll have nothing more to do 
with you!” 

With this she arose and marched up the 
path, vastly indignant, and Louise marched be- 
side her. At the bend in the walk they glanced 
back, and saw Uncle John sitting upon the bench 
all doubled up and shaking with silent laughter. 

“He’s a queer old man,” said Beth, flushing; 
“but he’s impudent and half a fool.” 

“Don’t judge hastily, Beth,” replied Louise, 
reflectively. “I can’t make up my mind, just yet, 
whether Uncle John is a fool or not.” 

“Anyhow,” snapped Beth, “he’s laughing at 
us.” 

“And that,” said her cousin, softly, “is the 
strongest evidence of his sanity. Beth, my love, 
Aunt Jane has placed us in a most ridiculous po- 
sition.” 

That evening at dinner they met Uncle John 
again, seated opposite Aunt Jane in the great 
dining hall. The mistress of Elmhurst always 
dressed for this meal and tonight she wore a 
rich black silk and had her invalid chair wheeled 
to her place at the head of the table. Uncle John 

136 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


had simply changed his old black necktie for a 
soiled white one. Otherwise his apparel was the 
same as before, and his stubby gray hair was in a 
sad state of disarray. But his round face wore 
a cheerful smile, nevertheless, and Aunt Jane 
seemed not to observe anything outre in her 
brother’s appearance. And so the meal passed 
pleasantly enough. 

After it was finished Uncle John strolled into 
the garden to smoke his pipe under the stars and 
Louise sang a few songs for Aunt Jane in the 
dimly-lit drawing room. Beth, who was a music 
teacher’s daughter, could not sing at all. 

It was some time later when John Merrick 
came to his sister’s room to bid her good night. 

“Well,” she asked him, “what do you think 
pf the girls?” 

“My nieces?” 

“Yes.” 

“During my lifetime,” said the old man, “I’ve 
always noticed that girls are just girls — and noth- 
ing more. Jane, your sex is a puzzle that ain’t 
worth the trouble solving. You’re all alike, and 
what little I’ve seen of my nieces convinces me 


137 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

they’re regulation females — no better nor worse 
than their kind.” 

“Louise seems a capable girl/’ declared Aunt 
Jane, musingly. “I didn’t care much for her, at 
first ; but she improves on acquaintance. She has 
been well trained by her mother, and is very lady- 
like and agreeable.” 

“She’s smarter than the other one, but not so 
honest,” said Uncle John. 

“Beth has no tact at all,” replied Aunt Jane. 
“But then, she’s younger than Louise.” 

“If you’re trying to figure out what they are, 
and what they are not,” returned the man, “you’ve 
got a hard job on your hands, Jane, and like as 
not you’ll make a mistake in the end. Where’s 
the other niece? Aren’t there three of them?” 

“Yes. The other’s coming. Silas Watson, 
my lawyer, has just telegraphed from New York 
that he’s bringing Patricia back with him.” 

“Had to send for her, eh?” 

“Yes. She’s Irish, and if I remember rightly 
her father is a disgraceful old reprobate, who 
caused poor Violet no end of worry. The girl 
may be like him, for she wrote me a dreadful 

138 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


letter, scolding me because I hadn’t kept her par- 
ents supplied with money, and refusing to become 
my guest.” 

“But she’s changed her mind?” 

“I sent Watson after her, and he’s bringing 
her. I wanted to see what the girl is like.” 

Uncle John whistled a few bars of an ancient 
tune. 

“My advice is,” he said, finally, “to let ’em 
draw cuts for Elmhurst. If you want to leave 
your money to the best o’ the lot, you’re as sure 
of striking it right that way as any other.” 

“Nonsense!” said Jane Merrick, sharply. “I 
don’t want to leave my money to the best of the 
lot.” 

“No?” 

“By no means. I want to leave it to the one 
I prefer — whether she’s the best or not.” 

“I see. Jane, I’ll repeat my former observa- 
tion. Your sex is a puzzle that isn’t worth solv- 
ing. Good night, old girl.” 

“Good night, John.” 


139 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE OTHER NIECE. 

Patricia sat down opposite her Aunt Jane. 
She still wore her hat and the gray wrap. 

“Well, here I am,” she exclaimed, with a 
laugh; “but whether I ought to be here or not I 
have my doubts.” 

Aunt Jane surveyed her critically. 

“You’re a queer little thing,” she said, blunt- 
ly. “I wonder why I took so much trouble to get 
you.” 

“So do I,” returned Patsy, her eyes twink- 
ling. “You’ll probably be sorry for it.” 

Lawyer Watson, who had remained standing, 
now broke in nervously. 

“I explained to Miss Doyle,” said he, “that 
you were ill, and wanted to see her. And she 

140 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

kindly consented to come to Elmhurst for a few 
days.” 

“You see,” said Patsy, “I’d just got Daddy 
away on his vacation, to visit his old colonel. I’ve 
wanted him to go this three years back, but 
he couldn’t afford it until I got a raise this 
Spring. He’ll have a glorious old time with the 
colonel, and they’ll fish and hunt and drink 
whiskey all day, and fight the war all over again 
every evening. So I was quite by myself when 
Mr. Watson came to me and wouldn’t take no for 
his answer.” 

“Why did you object to come here?” asked 
Aunt Jane. 

“Well, I didn’t know you; and I didn’t es- 
pecially want to know you. Not that I bear 
grudges, understand, although you’ve been little 
of a friend to my folks these past years. But you 
are rich and proud — and I suspect you’re a little 
cross, Aunt Jane — while we are poor and proud 
and like to live our lives in our own way.” 

“Are you a working girl?” enquired Miss 
Merrick. 

“Surely,” said Patsy, “and drawing a big 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


lump of salary every Saturday night. I’m a 
hair-dresser, you know — and by the way, Aunt 
Jane, it puzzles me to find a certain kink in your 
hair that I thought I’d invented myself.” 

“Louise dressed my hair this way,” said Miss 
Merrick, a bit stiffly. 

“Your maid?” 

“My niece, Louise Merrick.” 

Patsy whistled, and then clapped her hand 
over her mouth and looked grave. 

“Is she here?” she asked, a moment later. 

“Yes, and your other cousin, Elizabeth De 
Graf, is here also.” 

“That’s just the trouble,” cried Patsy, en- 
ergetically. “That’s why I didn’t want to come, 
you know.” 

“I don’t understand you, Patricia.” 

“Why, it’s as plain as the nose on your face, 
even if I hadn’t pumped Mr. Watson until I got 
the truth out of him. You want us girls here 
just to compare us with each other, and pick out 
the one you like best.” 

“Well?” 


142 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“The others you’ll throw over, and the favor- 
ite will get your money.” 

'‘Haven’t I a right to do that ?” asked the in- 
valid, in an amazed tone. 

“Perhaps you have. But we may as well 
understand each other right now, Aunt Jane. I 
won’t touch a penny of your money, under any 
circumstances.” 

“I don’t think you will, Patricia.” 

The girl laughed, with a joyous, infectious 
merriment that was hard to resist. 

“Stick to that, aunt, and there’s no reason 
we shouldn’t be friends,” she said, pleasantly. 
“I don’t mind coming to see you, for it will give 
me a bit of a rest and the country is beautiful 
just now. More than that, I believe I shall like 
you. You’ve had your own way a long time, and 
you’ve grown crochetty and harsh and disagree- 
able; but there are good lines around your 
mouth and eyes, and your nature’s liable to 
soften and get sunny again. I’m sure I hope so. 
So, if you’d like me to stay a few days, I’ll 
take off my things and make myself at home. 
But I’m out of the race for your money, and I’ll 


143 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

pay my way from now on just as I have always 
done.” 

Silas Watson watched Aunt Jane’s face dur- 
ing this speech with an anxious and half-fright- 
ened expression upon his own. No one but him- 
self had ever dared to talk to Jane Merrick as 
plainly as this before, and he wondered how she 
would accept such frankness from a young girl. 

But Patricia’s manner was not at all offen- 
sive. Her big eyes were as frank as her words, 
but they glistened with kindliness and good na- 
ture, and it was evident the girl had no doubt at 
all of her aunt’s reply, for she straightway be- 
gun to take off her hat. 

The invalid had kept her eyes sternly fas- 
tened upon her young niece ever since the be- 
ginning of the interview. Now she reached out 
a hand and touched her bell. 

“Misery,” she said to the old housekeeper, 
“show my niece, Miss Patricia, to the rose cham- 
ber. And see that she is made comfortable.” 

“Thank you,” said Patsy, j uniping up to go. 

“Make yourself perfectly free of the place,” 
continued Aunt Jane, in an even tone, turning 


144 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


to Patricia, “and have as good a time as you can. 
I’m afraid it’s rather stupid here for girls, but 
that can’t be helped. Stay as long as you please, 
and go home whenever you like; but while you 
are here, if you ever feel like chatting with a 
harsh and disagreeable old woman, come to me 
at any time and you will be welcome.” 

Patsy, standing before her, looked down into 
her worn face with a pitying expression. 

“Ah! I’ve been cruel to you,” she exclaimed, 
impulsively, “and I didn’t mean to hurt you at 
all, Aunt Jane. You must forgive me. It’s 
just my blunt Irish way, you see; but if I hadn’t 
been drawn to you from the first I wouldn’t have 
said a word — good or bad!” 

“Go now,” replied Aunt Jane, turning in her 
chair rather wearily. “But come to me again 
whenever you like.” 

Patsy nodded, and followed the housekeeper 
to the rose chamber — the prettiest room old Elm- 
hurst possessed, with broad windows opening di- 
rectly upon the finest part of the garden. 

Lawyer Watson sat opposite his old friend 
for some moments in thoughtful silence. 


145 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“The child is impossible,’’ he said, at last. 

“You think so?’’ she enquired, moodily. 

“Absolutely. Either of the others would 
make a better Lady of Elmhurst. Yet I like the 
little thing, I confess. She quite won my old 
heart after I had known her for five minutes. 
But money would ruin her. She’s a child of the 
people, and ought not to be raised from her 
proper level. Jane, Jane — you’re making a 
grave mistake in all this. Why don’t you do the 
only right thing in your power, and leave Elm- 
hurst to Kenneth?” 

“You bore me, Silas,” she answered, coldly. 
“The boy is the most impossible of all.” 

It was the old protest and the old reply. He 
had hardly expected anything different. 

After a period of thought he asked : 

“What is this I hear about John Merrick hav- 
ing returned from the West?” 

“He came yesterday. It was a great surprise 
to me.” 

“I never knew this brother, I believe.” 

“No; he had gone away before I became ac- 
quainted with either you or Tom.” 

146 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“What sort of a man is he?” 

“Honest and simple, hard-headed and ex- 
perienced.” 

“Is he independent?” 

“I believe so; he has never mentioned his 
affairs to me. But he has worked hard all his 
life, he says, and now means to end his days 
peacefully. John is not especially refined in his 
manner, nor did he have much of an education; 
but he seems to be a good deal of a man, for all 
that. I am very glad he appeared at Elmhurst 
just at this time.” 

“You had believed him dead?” 

“Yes. He had passed out of my life com- 
pletely, and I never knew what became of him.” 

“He must be an eccentric person,” said Mr. 
Watson, with a smile. 

“He is,” she acknowledged. “But blood is 
thicker than water, Silas, and I’m glad brother 
John is here at last.” 

A little later the lawyer left her and picked 
his way through the gardens until he came to 
Kenneth’s wing and the stair that led to his 
room. Here he paused a moment, finding him- 


147 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

self surrounded by a profound stillness, broken 
only by the chirping of the birds in the shrub- 
bery. Perhaps Kenneth was not in. He half 
decided to retrace his steps, but finally mounted 
the stair softly and stood within the doorway of 
the room. 

The boy and a little stout man were playing 
chess at a table, and both were in a deep study 
of the game. The boy’s back was toward him, 
but the man observed the newcomer and gave a 
nod. Then he dropped his eyes again to the 
table. 

Kenneth was frowning sullenly. 

“You’re bound to lose the pawn, whichever 
way you play,” said the little man quietly. 

The boy gave an angry cry, and thrust the 
table from him, sending the chess-men clattering 
into a corner. Instantly the little man leaned 
over and grasped the boy by the collar, and with 
a sudden jerk landed him across his own fat 
knees. Then, while the prisoner screamed and 
struggled, the man brought his hand down with 
a slap that echoed throughout the room, and con- 

148 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

tinued the operation until Master Kenneth had 
received a sound spanking. 

Then he let the boy slip to the floor, from 
whence he arose slowly and backed toward the 
door, scowling and muttering angrily. 

“You broke the bargain, and I kept my 
word,” said Uncle John, calmly taking his pipe 
from his pocket and filling it. “The compact 
was that if you raised a rough-house, like you 
did yesterday, and got unruly, that I’d give you 
a good thrashing. Now, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes,” acknowledged the boy. 

“Well, that blamed temper o’ your’n got away 
with you again, and you’re well spanked for not 
heading it off. Pick up the board, Ken, my lad, 
and let’s try it again.” 

The boy hesitated. Then he looked around 
and saw Lawyer Watson, who had stood mo- 
tionless by the doorway, and with a cry that 
was half a sob Kenneth threw himself into his 
old friend’s arms and burst into a flood of tears. 

Uncle John struck a match, and lighted his 
pipe. 


149 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“A bargain’s a bargain,” he observed, com- 
posedly. 

“He whipped me!” sobbed the boy. “He 
whipped me like a child.” 

“Your own fault,” said Uncle John. “You 
wanted me to play a game with you, and I 
agreed, providin’ you behaved yourself. And 
you didn’t. Now, look here. Do you blame me 
any?” 

“No,” said the boy. 

“No harm’s done, is there?” 

“No.” 

“Then stop blubberin’, and introduce me to 
your friend,” continued Uncle John. “Name’s 
Watson, ain’t it.” 

“Silas Watson, sir, at your service,” said the 
lawyer, smiling. “And this must be John Mer- 
rick, who I understand has arrived at Elmhurst 
during my absence.” 

“Exactly,” said Uncle John, and the two men 
shook hands cordially. 

“Glad to welcome you to Elmhurst, sir,” con- 
tinued the lawyer. “I’ve known it ever since I 
was a boy, when it belonged to my dear friend 


150 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

Thomas Bradley. And I hope you’ll love it as 
much as I do, when you know it better.” 

“Bradley must have been a fool to give this 
place to Jane,” said Uncle John, reflectively. 

“He was in love, sir,” observed the other, and 
they both smiled. Then the lawyer turned to 
Kenneth. “How are things going?” he asked. 
“Have the girls bothered you much, as yet?” 

“No,” said the boy. “I keep out of their 
way.” 

“That’s a good idea. By the bye, sir,” turn- 
ing to John Merrick. “I’ve just brought you a 
new niece.” 

“Patricia ?” 

“She prefers to be called Patsy. A queer 
little thing; half Irish, you know.” 

“And half Merrick. That’s an odd combina- 
tion, but the Irish may be able to stand it,” said 
Uncle John. “These nieces are more than I bar- 
gained for. I came to see one relative, and find 
three more — and all women!” 

“I think you’ll like Patsy, anyhow. And so 
will you, Kenneth.” 

The boy gave an indignant roar. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“I hate all girls !” he said. 

“You won’t hate this one. She’s as wild and 
impulsive as you are, but better natured. She’ll 
make a good comrade, although she may box 
your ears once in a while.” 

The boy turned away sulkily, and began pick- 
ing up the scattered chess-men. The two men 
walked down the stair and strolled together 
through the garden. 

“A strange boy,” said Uncle John, presently. 

“I’m glad to see you’ve made friends with 
him,” replied the lawyer, earnestly. “Until now 
he has had no one to befriend him but me, and 
at times he’s so unmanageable that it worries me 
dreadfully.” 

“There’s considerable character about the 
lad,” said John Merrick; “but he’s been spoiled 
and allowed to grow up wild, like a weed. He’s 
got it in him to make a criminal or a gentleman, 
whichever way his nature happens to develop.” 

“He ought to go to a military school,” re- 
plied Lawyer Watson. “Proper training would 
make a man of Kenneth; but I can’t induce Jane 
to spend the money on him. She gives him food 


152 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

and clothing and lodging— all of the simplest de- 
scription — but there her generosity ends. With 
thousands of dollars lying idle, she won’t assist 
the only nephew of Tom Bradley to secure a 
proper education.” 

“Jane’s queer, too,” said that lady’s brother, 
with a sigh. “In fact, Mr. Watson, it’s a queer 
world, and the longer I live in it the queerer I 
find it. Once I thought it would be a good idea 
to regulate things myself, and run the world as 
it ought to be run; but I gave it up long ago. 
The world’s a stage, they say ; but the show ain’t 
always amusing, by a long chalk, and sometimes 
I wish I didn’t have a reserved seat.” 


153 


CHAPTER XIV. 


KENNETH IS FRIGHTENED. 

Lawyer Watson, unable to direct events at 
Elmhurst, became a silent spectator of the little 
comedy being enacted there, and never regretted 
that, as Uncle John expressed it, he “had a re- 
served seat at the show.” 

Jane Merrick, formerly the most imperious 
and irrascible of women, had become wonder- 
fully reserved since the arrival of her nieces, and 
was evidently making a sincere effort to study 
their diverse characters. Day by day the in- 
valid’s health was failing visibly. She had no 
more strokes of paralysis, but her left limb did 
not recover, and the numbness was gradually 
creeping upward toward her heart. 

Perhaps the old woman appreciated this more 
fully than anyone else. At any event, she be- 


154 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


came more gentle toward Phibbs and Misery, 
who mostly attended her, and showed as much 
consideration as possible for her nieces and her 
brother. Silas Watson she kept constantly by 
her side. He was her oldest and most trusted 
friend, and the only differences they had ever 
had were over the boy Kenneth, whom she stub- 
bornly refused to favor. 

Uncle John speedily became an established 
fixture at the place. The servants grew accus- 
tomed to seeing him wander aimlessly about the 
grounds, his pipe always in his mouth, his hands 
usually in his pockets. He had a pleasant word 
always for Donald or Oscar or James, but was 
not prone to long conversations. Every evening, 
when he appeared at dinner, he wore his soiled 
white tie; at other times the black one was al- 
ways in evidence; but other than this his dress 
underwent no change. Even Kenneth came to 
wonder what the bundle had contained that 
Uncle John brought under his arm to Elmhurst. 

The little man seemed from the first much 
attracted by his three nieces. Notwithstanding 
Louise’s constant snubs and Beth’s haughty si- 


155 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


lence he was sure to meet them when they 
strolled out and try to engage them in conver- 
sation. It was hard to resist his simple 
good nature, and the girls came in time to ac- 
cept him as an inevitable companion, and Louise 
mischievously poked fun at him while Beth con- 
scientiously corrected him in his speech and en- 
deavored to improve his manners. All this 
seemed very gratifying to Uncle John. He 
thanked Beth very humbly for her kind atten- 
tion, and laughed with Louise when she ridi- 
culed his pudgy, round form and wondered if 
his bristly gray hair wouldn’t make a good scrub- 
bing brush. 

Patsy didn’t get along very well with her 
cousins. From the first, when Louise recog- 
nized her, with well assumed surprise, as “the 
girl who had been sent to dress her hair,” Pa- 
tricia declared that their stations in life were en- 
tirely different. 

“There’s no use of our getting mixed up, just 
because we’re cousins and all visiting Aunt 
Jane,” she said. “One of you will get her money, 
for I’ve told her I wouldn’t touch a penny of it. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and she has told me I wouldn’t get the chance. 
So one of you will be a great lady, while I shall 
always earn my own living. I’ll not stay long, 
anyhow; so just forget I’m here, and I’ll amuse 
myself and try not to bother you.” 

Both Beth and Louise considered this very 
sensible, and took Patricia at her word. More- 
over, Phibbs had related to Beth, whose de- 
voted adherent she was, all of the conversation 
between Aunt Jane and Patricia, from which the 
girls learned they had nothing to fear from their 
cousin’s interference. So they let her go her 
way, and the three only met at the state dinners, 
which Aunt Jane still attended, in spite of her 
growing weakness. 

Old Silas Watson, interested as he was in the 
result, found it hard to decide, after ten days, 
which of her nieces Jane Merrick most favored. 
Personally he preferred that Beth should inherit, 
and frankly told his old friend that the girl would 
make the best mistress of Elmhurst. Moreover, 
all the servants sang Beth’s praises, from Misery 
and Phibbs down to Oscar and Susan. Of 
course James the gardener favored no one, as 

157 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


the numerous strangers at Elmhurst kept him in 
a constant state of irritation, and his malady 
seemed even worse than usual. He avoided 
everyone but his mistress, and although his work 
was now often neglected Miss Merrick made no 
complaint. James’ peculiarities were well under- 
stood and aroused nothing but sympathy. 

Louise, however, had played her cards so 
well that all Beth’s friends were powerless to 
eject the elder girl from Aunt Jane’s esteem. 
Louise had not only returned the check to her 
aunt, but she came often to sit beside her and 
cheer her with a budget of new social gossip, and 
no one could arrange the pillows so comfortably 
or stroke the tired head so gently as Louise. 
And then, she was observing, and called Aunt 
Jane’s attention to several ways of curtailing the 
household expenditures, which the woman’s ill- 
ness had forced her to neglect. 

So Miss Merrick asked Louise to look over 
the weekly accounts, and in this way came to de- 
pend upon her almost as much as she did upon 
Lawyer Watson. 

As for Patsy, she made no attempt whatever 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

to conciliate her aunt, who seldom mentioned her 
name to the others but always brightened visibly 
when the girl came into her presence with her 
cheery speeches and merry laughter. She never 
stayed long, but came and went, like a streak of 
sunshine, whenever the fancy seized her; and 
Silas Watson, shrewdly looking on, saw a new 
light in Jane’s eyes as she looked after her way- 
ward, irresponsible niece, and wondered if the 
bargain between them, regarding the money, 
would really hold good. 

It was all an incomprehensible problem, this 
matter of the inheritance, and although the law- 
yer expected daily to be asked to draw up Jane 
Merrick’s will, and had, indeed, prepared sev- 
eral forms, to be used in case of emergency, no 
word had yet passed her lips regarding her in- 
tentions. 

Kenneth’s life, during this period, was one 
of genuine misery. It seemed to his morbid 
fancy that whatever path he might take, he was 
sure of running upon one or more of those de- 
testable girls who were visiting at Elmhurst. 
Even . in .. Donald’s harness-room he was not se- 


159 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

cure from interruption, for little Patsy was fre- 
quently perched upon the bench there, watching 
with serious eyes old Donald’s motions, and 
laughing joyously when in his embarrassment he 
overturned a can of oil or buckled the wrong 
straps together. 

Worse than all, this trying creature would 
saddle Nora, the sorrel mare, and dash away 
through the lanes like a tom-boy, leaving him 
only old Sam to ride — for Donald would allow 
no one to use the coach horses. Sam was tall 
and boney, and had an unpleasant gait, so that 
the boy felt he was thoroughly justified in hating 
the girl who so frequently interfered with his 
whims. 

Louise was at first quite interested in Ken- 
neth, and resolved to force him to talk and be- 
come more sociable. 

She caught him in a little summer-house one 
morning, from whence, there being but one en- 
trance, he could not escape, and at once entered 
into conversation. 

“Ah, you are Kenneth Forbes, I suppose,” 
she began, pleasantly. “I am very glad to make 


160 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

your acquaintance. I am Louise Merrick, Miss 
Merrick’s niece, and have come to visit her.” 

The boy shrank back as far as possible, star- 
ing her full in the face, but made no reply. 

“You needn’t be afraid of me,” continued 
Louise. “I’m very fond of boys, and you must 
be nearly my own age.” 

Still no reply. 

“I suppose you don’t know much of girls 
and are rather shy,” she persisted. “But I want 
to be friendly and I hope you’ll let me. There’s 
so much about this interesting old place that you 
can tell me, having lived here so many years. 
Come, I’ll sit beside you on this bench, and we’ll 
have a good talk together.” 

“Go away!” cried the boy, hoarsely, raising 
his hands as if to ward off her approach. 

Louise looked surprised and pained. 

“Why, we are almost cousins,” she said. 
“Cannot we become friends and comrades?” 

With a sudden bound he dashed her aside, so 
rudely that she almost fell, and an instant later 
he had left the summer house and disappeared 
among the hedges. 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 

Louise laughed at her own discomfiture and 
gave up the attempt to make the boy’s acquaint- 
ance. 

“He’s a regular savage,” she told Beth, after- 
ward, “and a little crazy, too, I suspect.” 

“Never mind,” said Beth, philosophically. 
“He’s only a boy, and doesn’t amount to any- 
thing, anyway. After Aunt Jane dies he will 
probably go somewhere else to live. Don’t let 
us bother about him.” 

Kenneth’s one persistent friend was Uncle 
John. He came every day to the boy’s room to 
play chess with him, and after that one day’s 
punishment, which, singularly enough, Kenneth 
in no way resented, they got along very nicely 
together. Uncle John was a shrewd player of 
the difficult game, but the boy was quick as a 
flash to see an advantage and use it against his 
opponent; so neither was ever sure of winning 
and the interest in the game was constantly main- 
tained. At evening also the little man often 
came to sit on the stair outside the boy’s room 
and smoke his pipe, and frequently they would 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

sit beneath the stars, absorbed in thought and 
without exchanging a single word. 

Unfortunately, Louise and Beth soon discov- 
ered the boy’s secluded retreat, and loved to tor- 
ment him by entering his own bit of garden and 
even ascending the stairs to his little room. He 
could easily escape them by running through the 
numerous upper halls of the mansion; but here 
he was liable to meet others, and his especial 
dread was encountering old Miiss Merrick. So 
he conceived a plan for avoiding the girls in an- 
other way. 

In the hallway of the left wing, near his door, 
was a small ladder leading to the second story 
roof, and a dozen feet from the edge of the roof 
stood an old oak tree, on the further side of a 
tall hedge. Kenneth managed to carry a plank 
to the roof, where, after several attempts, he 
succeeded in dropping one end into a crotch of 
the oak, thus connecting the edge of the roof 
with the tree by means of the narrow plank. 
After this, at first sight of the girls in his end of 
the garden, he fled to the roof, ran across the 

163 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


improvised bridge, “shinned" down the tree and, 
hidden by the hedge, made good his escape. 

The girls discovered this plan, and were 
wicked enough to surprise the boy often and 
force him to cross the dizzy plank to the tree. 
Having frightened him away they would laugh 
and stroll on, highly amused at the evident fear 
they aroused in the only boy about the place. 

Patricia, who was not in the other girls’ se- 
cret, knew nothing of this little comedy and 
really disturbed Kenneth least of the three. But 
he seemed to avoid her as much as he did the 
others. 

She sooned learned from Oscar that the boy 
loved to ride as well as she did, and once or 
twice she met him on a lonely road perched on 
top of big Sam. This led her to suspect she had 
thoughtlessly deprived him of his regular mount. 
So one morning she said to the groom : 

“Doesn’t Kenneth usually ride Nora?” 

“Yes, Miss,” answered the man. 

“Then I’d better take Sam this morning,” she 
decided. 

But the groom demurred. 


164 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“You won’t like Sam, Miss,” he said, “and 
he gets ugly at times and acts bad. Master Ken- 
neth won’t use Nora today, I’m sure.” 

She hesitated. 

“I think I’ll ask him,” said she, after a mo- 
ment, and turned away into the garden, anxious 
to have this plausible opportunity to speak to the 
lonely boy. 


i6'5 


CHAPTER XV. 


PATSY MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT. 

“Get out of here!” shouted the boy, angrily, 
as Patsy appeared at the foot of his stair. 

“I won’t!” she answered indignantly. “I’ve 
come to speak to you about the mare, and you’ll 
just treat me decently or I’ll know the reason 
why !” 

But he didn’t wait to hear this explanation. 
He saw her advancing up the stairs, and fled in 
his usual hasty manner to the hall and up the lad- 
der to the roof. 

Patsy stepped back into the garden, vexed 
at his flight, and the next instant she saw him ap- 
pear upon the sloping roof and start to run down 
the plank. 

Even as she looked the boy slipped, fell head- 
long, and slid swiftly downward. In a moment 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

he was over the edge, clutching wildly at the 
plank, which was a foot or more beyond his 
reach. Headforemost he dove into space, but the 
clutching hand found something at last — the pro- 
jecting hook of an old eaves-trough that had long 
since been removed — and to this he clung fast in 
spite of the jerk of his arrested body, which 
threatened to tear away his grip. 

But his plight was desperate, nevertheless. 
He was dangling in space, the hard pavement 
thirty feet below him, with no possible way of 
pulling himself up to the roof again. And the 
hook was so small that there was no place for 
his other hand. The only way he could cling to 
it at all was to grasp his wrist with the free hand 
as a partial relief from the strain upon his arm. 

“Hold fast!” called Patsy. “I’m coming.” 

She sprang up the steps, through the boy’s 
room and into the hallway. There she quickly 
perceived the ladder, and mounted it to the roof. 
Taking in the situation at a glance she ran with 
steady steps down the sloping roof to where the 
plank lay, and stepped out upon it far enough to 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


see the boy dangling beside her. Then she de- 
cided instantly what to do. 

“Hang on!” she called, and returning to the 
roof dragged the end of the plank to a position 
directly over the hook. Then she lay flat upon 
it, an arm on either side of the plank, and reach- 
ing down seized one of the boy’s wrists firmly in 
each hand. 

“Now, then,” said she, “let go the hook.” 

“If I do,” answered the boy, his white face 
u^urned to hers, “I’ll drag you down with me.” 

“No you won’t. I’m very strong, and I’m 
suie I can save you. Let go,” she said, im- 
peratively. 

“I’m not afraid to die,” replied the boy, his 
voice full of bitterness. “Take away your hands, 
and I’ll drop.” 

But Patsy gripped him more firmly than ever. 

“Don’t be a fool!” she cried. “There’s no 
danger whatever, if you do just what I tell you.” 

His eyes met hers in a mute appeal ; but sud- 
denly he gained confidence, and resolved to trust 
her. In any event, he could not cling to the hook 
much longer. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


He released his hold, and swung in mid-air 
just beneath the plank, where the girl lay hold- 
ing him by his wrists. 

“]%)w, then,” she said, quietly, “when I lift 
you up, grab the edges of the plank.” 

Patrica’s strength was equal to her courage, 
and under the excitement of that desperate mo- 
ment she did what few other girls of her size 
could ever have accomplished. She drew the boy 
up until his eager hands caught the edges of the 
plank, and gripped it firmly. Then she released 
him and crept a little back toward the roof. 

“Now swing your legs up and you’re safe!” 
she cried. 

He tried to obey, but his strength was failing 
him, and he could do no more than touch the 
plank with his toes. 

“Once more,” called the girl. 

This time she caught his feet as they swung 
upward, and drew his legs around the plank. 

“Can you climb up', now?” she asked, anx- 
iously. 

“I’ll try,” he panted. 

The plank upon which this little tragedy was 
169 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

being enacted was in full view of the small garden 
where Aunt Jane loved to sit in her chair and 
enjoy the flowers and the sunshine. She could 
not see Kenneth’s wing at all, but she could see 
the elevated plank leading from the roof to the 
oak tree, and for several days had been puzzled 
by its appearance and wondered for what pur- 
pose it was there. 

Today, as she sat talking with John Merrick 
and Silas Watson, she suddenly gave a cry of 
surprise, and following her eyes the two men saw 
Kenneth step out upon the roof, fall, and slide 
over the edge. For a moment all three remained 
motionless, seized with fear and consternation, 
and then they saw Patsy appear and run down 
to the plank. 

This they watched her move, and saw her lie 
down upon it. 

“She’s trying to save him — he must be 
caught somewhere!” cried the lawyer, and both 
men started at full speed to reach the spot by the 
round-about paths through the garden. 

Aunt Jane sat still and watched. Suddenly 
the form of the boy swung into view beneath the 


170 



“Once more,” called the girl. 






AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

plank, dangling from the girl’s outstretched 
arms. The woman caught her breath, wondering 
what would happen next. Patricia drew him up, 
until he seized the plank with his hands. Then 
the girl crept back a little, and as the boy swung 
his feet upward she caught them and twined his 
legs over the plank. 

- And now came the supreme struggle. The 
girl could do little more to help him. He must 
manage to clamber upon the top of the plank 
himself. 

Ordinarily Kenneth might have done this 
easily; but now his nerves were all unstrung, and 
he was half exhausted by the strain of the past 
few minutes. Almost he did it; but not quite. 
The next effort would be even weaker. But now 
Patricia walked out upon the plank and Aunt 
Jane saw her lean down, grasp the boy’s collar 
and drag him into a position of safety. 

“Bravely done!” she murmured, but even as 
the sound came from her lips the girl upon the 
bridge seemed in the exertion of the struggle to 
lose her balance. She threw out her arms, 

171 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


leaned sidewise, and then fell headlong- into the 
chasm and disappeared from view. 

Aunt Jane’s agonized scream brought Phibbs 
running to her side. At a glance she saw that 
her mistress had fainted, and looking hastily 
around to discover the cause she observed the 
boy crawl slowly across the plank, reach the tree, 
and slide down its trunk to pass out of view be- 
hind the high hedge. 

“Drat the boy!” growled the old servant, 
angrily, “he’ll be the death of Miss Jane, yet.” 


172 


CHAPTER XVI. 


GOOD RESULTS. 

Uncle John could not run so swiftly as the 
lawyer, but he broke through a gap in the hedge 
and arrived at a point just beneath the plank at 
the same time that Silas Watson did. 

One glance showed them the boy safely 
perched on top of the plank, but the girl was 
bending backward. She threw out her arms in 
a vain endeavor to save herself, and with a low 
cry toppled and plunged swiftly toward the 
ground. 

There was little time for the men to consider 
their actions. Involuntarily they tried to catch 
Patricia, whose body struck them sharply, fell- 
ing them to the ground, and then bounded 
against the hedge and back to the pavement. 

When, half dazed, they scrambled to their 


173 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


feet, the girl lay motionless before them, a stream 
of red blood welling from a deep cut in her for- 
liead, her eyes closed as if in sleep. 

A moment more and the boy was kneeling 
beside her, striving to stay the bleeding with his 
handkerchief. 

“Do something! For God’s sake try to do 
something,” he wailed, piteously. “Can’t you 
see she’s killed herself to save me?” 

Uncle John knelt down and took the still 
form in his arms. 

“Quiet, my lad,” he said. “She isn’t dead- 
Get Nora, and fetch the doctor as soon as you 
can.” 

The boy was gone instantly, his agony re- 
lieved by the chance of action, and followed by 
the lawyer, Uncle John carried his niece to the 
rose chamber and laid her upon her white bed. 

Misery met them, then, and following her 
came Louise and Beth, full of horror and pity for 
the victim of the dreadful accident. 

Jane: Merrick had promptly recovered con- 
sciousness, for fainting spells were foreign to her 


174 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

nature. Her first words to Phibbs, who was 
bending over her, were: 

“Is she dead?” 

“Who, Miss Jane?” 

“Patricia.” 

“I don’t know, Miss Jane. Why should she 
be dead?” 

“Run, you idiot! Run at once and find out. 
Ask my brother — ask anyone — if Patricia is 
dead !” 

And so Phibbs came to the rose chamber and 
found the little group bending over the girl’s un- 
conscious form. 

“Is she dead, sir? Miss Jane wants to 
know,” said the old servant, in awe-struck tones. 

“No,” answered Uncle John, gravely. “She 
isn’t dead, I’m sure; but I can’t tell how badly 
she is hurt. One of her legs — the right one — is 
broken, I know, for I felt it as I carried the child 
in my arms; but we must wait until the doctor 
comes before I can tell more.” 

Misery was something of a nurse, it seemed, 
and with the assistance of Louise, who proved 
most helpful in the emergency, she bathed the 


175 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

wound in the girl’s forehead and bandaged it as 
well as she was able. Between them the women 
also removed Patricia’s clothing and got her into 
bed, where she lay white and still unconscious, 
but breathing so softly that they knew she was 
yet alive. 

The doctor was not long in arriving, for 
Kenneth forced him to leap upon Nora’s back 
and race away to Elmhurst, while the boy fol- 
lowed as swiftly as he could on the doctor’s 
sober cob. 

Dr. Eliel was only a country practitioner, buf 
his varied experiences through many years had 
given him a practical knowledge of surgery, and 
after a careful examination of Patricia’s injuries 
he was able to declare that she would make a 
fine recovery. 

“Her leg is fractured, and she‘s badly 
bruised,” he reported to Aunt Jane, who sent for 
him as soon as he could leave the sick room. “But 
I do not think she has suffered any internal in- 
juries, and the wound on her forehead is a mere 
nothing. So, with good care, I expect the young 
lady to get along nicely.” 


176 


AUNT JANUS NIECES. 


“Do everything you can for her/’ said the 
woman, earnestly. “You shall be well paid, Dr. 
Eliel.” 

Before Patricia recovered her senses the doc- 
tor had sewn up her forehead and set the frac- 
tured limb, so that she suffered little pain from 
the first. 

Louise and Beth hovered over her constantly, 
ministering to every possible want and filled with 
tenderest sympathy for their injured cousin. The 
accident seemed to draw them out of their selfish- 
ness and petty intrigues and discovered in them 
the true womanly qualities that had lurked be- 
neath the surface. 

Patsy was not allowed to talk, but she smiled 
gratefully at her cousins, and the three girls 
seemed suddenly drawn nearer together than any 
of them would have thought possible a few hours 
before. 

The boy paced constantly up and down out- 
side Patricia’s door, begging everyone who left 
the room, for news of the girl’s condition. All 
his reserve and fear of women seemed to have 
melted away as if by magic. Even Beth and 

177 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Louise were questioned eagerly, and they, hav- 
ing learned the story of Patricia’s brave rescue 
of the boy, were very gentle with him and took 
pains not to frighten or offend him. 

Toward evening Louise asked Patricia if she 
would see Kenneth for a moment, and the girl 
nodded a ready assent. 

He came in awkward and trembling, glanc- 
ing fearfully at the bandaged forehead and the 
still white face. But Patricia managed to smile 
reassuringly, and held out a little hand for him 
to take. The boy grasped it in both his own, and 
held it for several minutes while he stood mo- 
tionless beside her, his wide eyes fixed intently 
upon her own. 

Then Louise sent him away, and he went to 
his room and wept profusely, and then quieted 
down into a sort of dull stupor. 

The next morning Uncle John dragged him 
away from Patricia’s door and forced him to 
play chess. The boy lost every game, being in- 
attentive and absorbed in thought, until finally 
Uncle John gave up the attempt to amuse him 
and settled himself on the top stair for a quiet 

178 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


smoke. The boy turned to the table, and took a 
sheet of paper from the drawer . For an hour, 
perhaps, neither of these curious friends spoke a 
word, but at the end of that time Uncle John 
arose and knocked the ashes from his pipe. Ken- 
neth did not notice him. The man approached 
the table and looked over the boy’s shoulder, ut- 
tering an exclamation of surprise. Upon the 
paper appeared a cleverly drawn pencil sketch 
of Patricia lying in her bed, a faint smile upon 
her face and her big blue eyes turned pleasantly 
upon a shadowy form that stood beside her hold- 
ing her hand. The likeness was admirable, and 
if there were faults in the perspective and compo- 
sition Uncle John did not recognize them. 

He gave a low whistle and turned thought- 
fully away, and the young artist was so absorbed 
that he did not even look up. 

Strolling away to the stables, Uncle John met 
old Donald, who enquired: 

“How is Miss Patsy this morning, sir?” It 
was the name she had given, and preferred to be 
called by. 

“She’s doing finely,” said Uncle John. 

179 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“A brave girl, sir!” 

“Yes, Donald.” 

“And the boy?” 

“Why, he seems changed, in some way, Don- 
ald. Not so nervous and wild as usual, you 
know. I’ve just left him drawing a picture. 
Curious. A good picture, too.” 

“Ah, he can do that, sir, as well as a real 
artist.” 

“Have you known him to draw, before this ?” 

“Why, he’s always at it, sir, in his quieter 
moods. I’ve got a rare good likeness o’ myself, 
as he did long ago, in the harness-room.” 

“May I see it?” 

“With pleasure, sir.” 

Donald led the way to the harness-room, and 
took from the cupboard the precious board he had 
so carefully preserved. 

Uncle John glanced at it and laughed aloud. 
He could well appreciate the humor of the sketch, 
which Donald never had understood, and the 
caricature was as clever as it was amusing. He 
handed the treasure back to Donald and went 
away even more thoughtful than before. 

180 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


A few days later a large package arrived at 
Elmhurst addressed to Kenneth Forbes, and Os- 
car carried it at once to the boy’s room, who sat 
for an hour looking at it in silent amazement. 
Then he carefully unwrapped it, and found it to 
contain a portable easel, a quantity of canvas and 
drawing-paper, paints and oils of every descrip- 
tion (mostly all unknown to him) and pencils, 
brushes and water colors in profusion. 

Kenneth’s heart bounded with joy. Here was 
wealth, indeed, greater than he had ever hoped 
for. He puzzled his brain for weeks to discover 
how this fairy gift had ever come to him, but 
he was happier in its possession than he had ever 
been before in all his life. 

Patricia improved rapidly. Had it not been 
for the broken leg she would have been out of the 
house in a week, as good as ever; but broken 
limbs take time to heal, and Dr. Eliel would not 
permit the girl to leave her bed until ten days had 
passed. 

Meantime everyone delighted to attend her. 
Louise and Beth sat with her for hours, reading 
or working, for the rose chamber was cheery 

181 


AUNT JANE’S ‘NIECES. 


and pleasant, and its big windows opened upon 
the prettiest part of the gardens. The two girls 
were even yet suspicious of one another, each 
striving to win an advantage with Aunt Jane; 
but neither had the slightest fear that Patricia 
would ever interfere with their plans. So they 
allowed their natural inclinations to pet and ad- 
mire the heroine of the hour full sway, and Patsy 
responded so sweetly and frankly to their ad- 
vances that they came to love her dearly, and 
wondered why they had not discovered from the 
first how lovable their Irish cousin could be. 

Kenneth, also came daily to the sick room for 
a visit, and Patsy had a way of drawing the boy 
out and making him talk that was really irresist- 
ible. After his fairy gift arrived he could not 
help telling the girls all about it, and then he 
brought the things down and displayed them, and 
promised Patsy he would make a picture of the 
garden for her. 

Then, after the girl got better, he brought his 
easel down to her room, where she could watch 
him work, and began upon the picture, while 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


the cousins joined him in speculations as to who 
the mysterious donor could be. 

“At first,” said Kenneth, “I thought it was 
Mr. Watson, for he’s alway been very good to 
me ; but he says he knows nothing about it. Then 
I though it might be Uncle John; but Uncle John 
is too poor to afford such an expensive present.” 

“I don’t believe he has a penny in the world,” 
said Louise, who sat by with some needle-work. 

“All he owns,” remarked Beth, with a laugh, 
“is an extra necktie, slightly damaged.” 

“But he’s a dear old man,” said Patsy, loy- 
ally, “and I’m sure he would have given all those 
things to Kenneth had he been able.” 

“Then who was it?” asked the boy. 

“Why, Aunt Jane, to be sure,” declared 
Patsy. 

The boy scowled, and shook his head. 

“She wouldn’t do anything to please me, even 
to save her life,” he growled. “She hates me, 
I know that well enough.” 

“Oh, no; I’m sure she doesn’t,” said Patsy. 
“Aunt Jane has a heap of good in her; but you’ve 
got to dig for it, like you do for gold. ‘T would 

183 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

be just like her to make you this present and keep 
it a secret.” 

“If she really did it,” replied the boy, slowly, 
“and it seems as if she is the only one I know 
who could afford such a gift, it stands to reason 
that either Uncle John or Mr. Watson asked her 
to, and she did it to please them. I’ve lived here 
for years, and she has never spoken a kindly word 
to me or done me a kindly act. It isn’t likely 
she’d begin now, is it?” 

Unable to make a reassuring reply, Patsy re- 
mained silent, and the boy went on with his work. 
He first outlined the picture in pencil, and then 
filled it in with water color. They all expressed 
admiration for the drawing, but the color effect 
was so horrible that even Patsy found no words 
to praise it, and the boy in a fit of sudden anger 
tore the thing to shreds and so destroyed it. 

“But I must have my picture, anyhow,” said 
the girl. “Make it in pen and ink or pencil, Ken. 
and I’m sure it will be beautiful.” 

“You need instruction, to do water color 
properly,” suggested Louise. 

“Then I can never do it,” he replied, bitterly. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


But he adopted Patsy’s suggestion and sketched 
the garden very prettily in pen and ink. By the 
time the second picture was completed Patsy had 
received permission to leave her room, which she 
did in Aunt Jane’s second-best wheel chair. 

Her first trip was to Aunt Jane’s own .pri- 
vate garden, where the invalid, who had not 
seen her niece since the accident, had asked her 
to come. 

Patsy wanted Kenneth to wheel- her, but the 
boy, with a touch of his old surly demeanor, 
promptly refused to meet Jane Merrick face to 
face. So Beth wheeled the chair and Louise 
walked by Patsy’s side, and soon the three nieces 
reached their aunt’s retreat. 

Aunt Jane was not in an especially amiable 
mood. 

“Well, girl, how do you like being a fool?” 
she demanded, as Patsy’s chair came to a stand 
just opposite her own. 

“It feels so natural that I don’t mind it,” re- 
plied Patsy, laughing. 

“You might have killed yourself, and all for 
nothing,” continued the old woman, querulously. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

Patsy looked at her pityingly. Her aunt’s 
face had aged greatly in the two weeks, and the 
thin gray hair seemed now almost white. 

“Are you feeling better, dear?” asked the 
girl. 

“I shall never be better,” said Jane Merrick, 
sternly. “The end is not far off now.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear you say that!” said 
Patsy; “but I hope it is not true. Why, here 
are we four newly found relations all begining 
to get acquainted, and to love one another, and 
we can’t have our little party broken up, auntie 
dear.” 

“Five of us — five relations,” cried Uncle 
John, coming around the corner of the hedge. 
“Don’t I count, Patsy, you rogue? Why you’re 
looking as bright and as bonny as can be. I 
wouldn’t be surprised if you could toddle.” 

“Not yet,” she answered, cheerfully. “But 
I’m doing finely, Uncle John, and it won’t be 
long before I can get about as well as ever.” 

“And to think,” said Aunt Jane, bitterly, 
“that all this trouble was caused by that miser- 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

able boy! If I knew where to send him he’d not 
stay at Elmhurst a day longer.” 

“Why, he’s my best friend, aunt,” announced 
Patsy, quietly. “I don’t think I could be happy 
at Elmhurst without Kenneth.” 

“He has quite reformed,” said Louise, “and 
seems like a very nice boy.” 

“He’s a little queer, yet, at times,” added 
Beth, “but not a bit rude, as he used to be.” 

Aunt Jane looked from one to the other in 
amazement. No one had spoken so kindly of the 
boy before in years. And Uncle John, with a 
thoughtful look on his face, said slowly: 

“The fact is, Jane, you’ve never given the 
boy a chance. On the contrary, you nearly 
ruined him by making a hermit of him and giv- 
ing him no schooling to speak of and no society 
except that of servants. He- was as wild as a 
hawk when I first came, but these girls are just 
the sort of companions he needs, to soften him 
and make him a man. I’ve no doubt he’ll come 
out all right, in the end.” 

“Perhaps you’d like to adopt him yourself, 

187 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

John,” sneered the woman, furious at this praise 
of thq one person she so greatly disliked. 

Her brother drew his hands from his pockets, 
looked around in a helpless and embarrassed way, 
and then tried fumblingly to fill his pipe. 

“I ain’t in the adopting business, Jane,” he 
answered meekly. “And if I was,” with a 
quaint smile, “I’d adopt one or two of these 
nieces o’ mine, instead of Tom Bradley’s nephew. 
If Bradley hadn’t seen you, Jane, and loved your 
pretty face when you were young, Kenneth For- 
bes would now be the owner of Elmhurst. Did 
you ever think of that?” 

Did she ever think of it? Why, it was this 
very fact that made the boy odious to her. The 
woman grew white with rage. 

“John Merrick, leave my presence.” 

“All right, Jane.” 

He stopped to light his pipe, and then slowly 
walked away, leaving an embarrassed group be- 
hind him. 

Patsy, however, was equal to the occasion. 
She began at once to chatter about Dr. Eliel, and 
the scar that would always show on her forehead ; 

1 88 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

and how surprised the Major, her father, would 
be when he returned from the visit to his colonel 
and found his daughter had been through the 
wars herself, and bore the evidence of honorable 
wounds. Louise gracefully assisted her cousin 
to draw Aunt Jane into a more genial mood, and 
between them they presently succeeded. The in- 
terview that had begun so unfortunately ended 
quite pleasantly, and when Patricia returned to 
her room her aunt bade her adieu almost tend- 
erly. 

‘In fact,” said Louise to Beth, in the privacy 
of the latter’s chamber, “1’m getting rather wor- 
ried over Aunt Jane’s evident weakness for our 
Cousin Patsy. Once or twice today I caught a 
look in her eye when she looked at Patsy that 
she has never given either you or me. The Irish 
girl may get the money yet.” 

“Nonsense,” said Beth. “She has said she 
wouldn’t accept a penny of it, and I’m positive 
she’ll keep her word.” 


189 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AUNT JANE'S HEIRESS. 

“Silas,” said Aunt Jane to her lawyer, the 
next morning after her interview with Patsy, 
“Pm ready to have you draw up my will.” 

Mr. Watson gave a start of astonishment. In 
his own mind he had arrived at the conclusion 
that the will would never be executed, and to have 
Miss Merrick thus suddenly declare her decision 
was enough to startle even the lawyer’s natural 
reserve. 

“Very well, Jane,” he said, briefly. 

They were alone in the invalid’s morning 
room, Phibbs having been asked to retire. 

“There is no use disguising the fact, Silas, 
that I grow weaker every day, and the numbness 
is creeping nearer and nearer to my heart,” said 
Miss Merrick, in her usual even tones. “It is 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


folly for me to trifle with these few days of grace 
yet allowed me, and I have fully made up my 
mind as to the disposition of my property.” 

“Yes?” he said, enquiringly, and drew from 
his pocket a pencil and paper. 

“I shall leave to my niece Louise five thous- 
and dollars.” 

“Yes, Jane,” jotting down the memorandum. 

“And to Elizabeth a like sum.” 

The lawyer seemed disappointed. He tapped 
the pencil against his teeth, musingly, for a mo- 
ment, and then wrote down the amount. 

“Also to my brother, John Merrick, the sum 
of five thousand dollars,” she resumed. 

“To your brother?” 

“Yes. That should be enough to take care 
of him as long as he lives. He seems quite sim- 
ple in his tastes, and he is an old man.” 

The lawyer wrote it down. 

“All my other remaining property, both real 
and personal, I shall leave to my niece, Patricia 
Doyle.” 

“Jane!” 

“Did you hear me?” 

191 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Yes.” 

“Then do as I bid you, Silas Watson.” 

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her 
thoughtfully. 

“I am not only your lawyer Jane; I am also 
your friend and counsellor. Do you realize what 
this bequest means?” he asked, gently. 

“It means that Patricia will inherit Elmhurst 
— and a fortune besides. Why not, Silas? I 
liked the child from the first. She’s frank and 
open and brave, and will do credit to my judg- 
ment.” 

“She is very young and unsophisticated,” said 
the lawyer, “and of all your nieces she will least 
appreciate your generosity.” 

“You are to be my executor, and manage the 
estate until the girl comes of age. You will see 
that she is properly educated and fitted for her 
station in life. As for appreciation, or gratitude, 
I don’t care a snap of my finger for such fol-de- 
rol.” 

The lawyer sighed. 

“But the boy, Jane? You seem to have for- 
gotten him,” he said. 


192 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Drat the boy ! I’ve done enough for him al- 
ready.” 

“Wouldn’t Tom like you to provide for Ken- 
neth in some way, however humbly?” 

She glared at him angrily. 

“How do you know what Tom would like, 
after all these years?” she asked, sternly. “And 
how should I know, either? The money is mine, 
and the boy is nothing to me. Let him shift for 
himself.” 

“There is a great deal of money, Jane,” de- 
clared the lawyer, impressively. “We have been 
fortunate in our investments, and you have used 
but little of your ample income. To spare fifty 
thousand dollars to Kenneth, who is Tom’s sole 
remaining relative, would be no hardship to Pat- 
ricia. Indeed, she would scarcely miss it.” 

“You remind me of something, Silas,” she 
said, looking at him with friendly eyes. “Make 
a memorandum of twenty thousand dollars to 
Silas Watson. You have been very faithful to 
my interests and have helped materially to in- 
crease my fortune.” 

“Thank you, Jane.” 


13 


193 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


He wrote down the amount as calmly as he 
had done the others. 

“And the boy?” he asked, persistently. 

Aunt Jane sighed wearily, and leaned against 
her pillows. 

“Give the boy two thousand,” she said. 

“Make it ten, Jane.” 

“I’ll make it five, and not a penny more,” she 
rejoined. “Now leave me, and prepare the paper 
at once. I want to sign it today, if possible.” 

He bowed gravely, and left the room. 

Toward evening the lawyer came again, bring- 
ing with him a notary from the village. Dr. Eliel, 
who had come to visit Patricia, was also called 
into Jane Merrick’s room, and after she had care- 
fully read the paper in their presence the mistress 
of Elmhurst affixed her signature to the docu- 
ment which transferred the great estate to the 
little Irish girl, and the notary and the doctor 
solemnly witnessed it and retired. 

“Now, Silas,” said the old woman, with a 
sigh of intense relief, “I can die in peace.” 

Singularly enough, the signing of the will 
seemed not to be the end for Jane Merrick, but 


194 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

the beginning of an era of unusual comfort. On 
the following morning she awakened brighter 
than usual, having passed a good night, freed 
from the worries and anxieties that had beset 
her for weeks. She felt more like her old self 
than at any time since the paralysis had over- 
taken her, and passed the morning most enjoy- 
ably in her sunshiney garden. Here Patricia 
was also brought in her wheel chair by Beth, who 
then left the two invalids together. 

They conversed genially enough, for a time, 
until an unfortunate remark of Aunt Jane’s which 
seemed to asperse her father’s character aroused 
Patricia’s ire. Then she loosened her tongue, and 
in her voluable Irish way berated her aunt until 
poor Phibbs stood aghast at such temerity, and 
even Mr. Watson, who arrived to enquire after 
his client and friend, was filled with amazement. 

He cast a significant look at Miss Merrick, 
who answered it in her usual emphatic way. 

“Patricia is quite right, Silas,” she declared, 
“and I deserve all that she has said. If the girl 
were fond enough of me to defend me as heartily 


195 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

as she does her father, I would be very proud, 
indeed.” 

Patricia cooled at once, and regarded her aunt 
with a sunny smile. 

“Forgive me!” she begged. “I know you 
did not mean it, and I was wrong to talk to you 
in such a way.” 

So harmony was restored, and Mr. Watson 
wondered more and more at this strange perver- 
sion of the old woman’s character. Heretofore 
any opposition had aroused in her intense rage 
and a fierce antagonism, but now she seemed 
delighted to have Patsy fly at her, and excused 
the girl’s temper instead of resenting it. 

But Patsy was a little ashamed of herself 
this morning, realizing perhaps that Aunt Jane 
had been trying to vex her, just to enjoy her in- 
dignant speeches; and she also realized the fact 
that her aunt was old and suffering, and not 
wholly responsible for her aggravating and some- 
what malicious observations. So she firmly re- 
solved not to be so readily entrapped again, and 
was so bright and cheery during the next hour 
that Aunt Jane smiled more than once, and at 

196 


AUNT^ JANE’S NIECES. 

one time actually laughed at her niece’s witty 
repartee/ 

After that it became the daily program for 
Patsy to spend her mornings in Aunt Jane’s lit- 
tle garden, and although they sometimes clashed, 
and, as Phibbs told Beth, “had dreadful fights,” 
they both enjoyed these hours very much. 

The two girls became rather uneasy during 
the days their cousin spent in the society of Aunt 
Jane. Even the dreadful accounts they received 
from Phibbs failed wholly to reassure them, and 
Louise redoubled her solicitious attentions to her 
aunt in order to offset the influence Patricia 
seemed to be gaining over her. 

Louise had also become, by this time, the 
managing housekeeper of the establishment, and 
it was certain that Aunt Jane looked upon her 
eldest and most competent niece with much favor. 

Beth, with all her friends to sing her praises, 
seemed to make less headway with her aunt than 
either of the others, and gradually she sank into 
a state of real despondency. 

“I’ve done the best I could,” she wrote her 
mother, “but I’m not as clever as Louise nor as 


197 


AUNT JANETS NIECES. 

amusing as": Patricia; so Aunt Jane pays little 
attention to' me. She’s a dreadful old woman, 
and I can’t bring myself' to appear to like her. 
That probably accountslfor my failure ; but I may 
as well stay " on here until something happens.” 

In a fortnight more Patricia abandoned her 
chair and took to crutches, on which she hob- 
bled everywhere as actively' as the others walked. 
She affected her cousins’ society more, from this 
time, and Aunt Jane’s society less, for she had 
come to be fond of the two girls who had nursed 
her so tenderly, and it was natural that a young 
girl would prefer to be with those of her own age 
rather than a crabbed old woman like Aunt Jane. 

Kenneth also now became Patsy’s faithful 
companion, for the boy had lost his former bash- 
fulness and fear of girls, and had grown to feel 
at ease even in the society of Beth and Louise. 
The four had many excursions and picnics into 
the country together; but Kenneth and Patsy 
were recognized as especial chums, and the other 
girls did not interfere in their friendship except 
to tease them, occasionally, in a good natured 
way. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

The boy’s old acquaintances could hardly 
recognize him as the same person they had known 
before Patricia’s adventure on the plank. His 
fits of gloomy abstraction and violent bursts of 
temper had alike vanished, or only prevailed at 
brief intervals. Nor was he longer rude and un- 
mannerly to those with whom he came in con- 
tact. Awkward he still was, and lacking in many 
graces that education and good society can alone 
confer ; but he was trying hard to be, as he con- 
fided to old. Uncle John, “like other people,” and 
succeeded in adapting himself very well to his 
new circumstances. 

Although he had no teacher, as yet, he had 
begun to understand color a little, and succeeded 
in finishing one or two water-color sketches 
which Patsy, who knew nothing at all of such 
things, pronounced “wonderfully fine.” Of 
course the boy blushed with pleasure and was en- 
couraged to still greater effort. 

The girl was also responsible for Kenneth’s 
sudden advancement in the household at Elm- 
hurst. 

One day she said calmly to Aunt Jane : 

199 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“I’ve invited Kenneth to dinner this even- 
ing.” 

The woman flew angry in an instant. 

“Who gave you such authority?” she de- 
manded. 

“No one. I just took it,” said Patsy, saucily. 

“He shall not come,” declared Aunt Jane, 
sternly. “I’ll have no interference from you, 
Miss, with my household arrangements. Phibbs, 
call Louise!” 

Patsy’s brow grew dark. Presently Louise 
appeared. 

“Instruct the servants to forbid that boy to 
enter my dining room this evening,” she said to 
Louise. 

“Also, Louise,” said Patsy, “tell them not to 
lay a plate for me, and ask Oscar to be ready with 
the wagon at five o’clock. I’m going home.” 

Louise hesitated, and looked from Miss Jane 
to Patsy, and back again. They were glaring 
upon each other like two gorgons. 

Then she burst into laughter; she could not 
help it, the sight was too ridiculous. A moment 


200 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


later Patsy was laughing, too, and then Aunt 
Jane allowed a grim smile to cross her features. 

“Never mind, Louise,” she said, with re- 
markable cheerfulness; “We’ll compromise mat- 
ters.” 

“How?” asked Patsy. 

“By putting a plate for Kenneth,” said her 
aunt, cooly. “I imagine I can stand his society 
for one evening.” 

So the matter was arranged to Patricia’s sat- 
isfaction, and the boy came to dinner, trembling 
and unhappy at first, but soon placed at ease by 
the encouragements of the three girls. Indeed, 
he behaved so well, in the main, and was so gen- 
tle and unobstrusive, that Aunt Jane looked at 
.him with surprise, and favored him with one or 
two speeches which he answered modestly and 
well. 

Patsy was radiant with delight, and the next 
day Aunt Jane remarked casually that she did 
not object to the boy’s presence at dinner, at all, 
and he could come whenever he liked. 

This arrangement gave great pleasure to both 
Uncle John and Mr. Watson, the latter of whom 


,201 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


was often present at the “state dinner,” and both 
men congratulated Patsy upon the distinct vic- 
tory she had won. No more was said about her 
leaving Elmhurst. The Major wrote that he 
was having a splendid time with the colonel, and 
begged for an extension of his vacation, to which 
Patsy readily agreed, she being still unable on ac- 
count of her limb to return to her work at Madam 
Borne’s. 

And so the days glided pleasantly by, and Au- 
gust came to find a happy company of young folks 
at old Elmhurst, with Aunt Jane wonderfully 
improved in health and Uncle John beaming com- 
placently upon everyone he chanced to meet. 


202 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


PATRICIA SPEAKS FRANKLY. 

It was Lawyer Watson’s suggestion that she 
was being unjust to £>eth and Louise, in encour- 
aging them to hope they might inherit Elmhurst, 
that finally decided Aunt Jane to end all misun- 
derstandings and inform her nieces of the fact 
that she had made a final disposition of her 
property. 

So one morning she sent word asking them 
all into her room, and when the nieces appeared 
they found Uncle John and the lawyer already in 
their aunt’s presence. There was an air of im- 
pressive formality pervading the room, .although 
Miss Merrick’s brother, at least, was as ignor- 
ant as her nieces of the reason why they had been 
summoned. 

Patsy came in last, hobbling actively on her 


203 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


crutches, although the leg was now nearly re- 
covered, and seated herself somewhat in the rear 
of the apartment. 

Aunt Jane looked into one expectant face af- 
ter another with curious interest, and then broke 
the silence by saying, gravely, but in more gen- 
tle tones than she was accustomed to use : 

“I believe, young ladies, that you have under- 
stood from the first my strongest reason for in- 
viting you to visit Elmhurst this summer. I am 
old, and must soon pass away, and instead of 
leaving you and your parents, who would be my 
legitimate heirs, too squabble over my property 
when I am gone, I decided to excute a will be- 
queathing my estate to some one who would take 
proper care of it and maintain it in a creditable 
manner. I had no personal acquaintance with 
any of you, but judged that one out of the three 
might serve my purpose, and therefore invited 
you all here.” 

By this time the hearts of Louise and Beth 
were fluttering with excitement, and even Patsy 
looked interested. Uncle John sat a little apart, 
watching them with an amused smile upon his 


204 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


face, and the lawyer sat silent with his eyes fixed 
upon a pattern in the rug. 

“In arriving at a decision, which I may say 
I have succeeded in doing,” continued Aunt Jane, 
calmly, “I do not claim to have acted with either 
wisdom or discernment. I have simply followed 
my own whim, as I have the right to do, and se- 
lected the niece I prefer to become my heiress. 
You cannot accuse of injustice, because none 
of you had a right to expect anything of me ; but 
I will say this, that I am well pleased with all 
three of you, and now wish that I had taken pains 
to form your acquaintance earlier in life. You 
might have cheered my old age, and rendered it 
less lonely and dull.” 

“Well said, Jane,” remarked Uncle John, nod- 
ding his head approvingly. 

She did not notice the interruption, but pres- 
ently continued : 

“Some days ago I asked my lawyer, Mr. Wat- 
son, to draw up my will. It was at once prepared 
and signed, and now stands as my last will and 
testament. I have given to you, Louise, the sum 
of five thousand dollars.” 


205 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

Louise laughed nervously, and threw out her 
hands with an indifferent gesture. 

“Many thanks, Aunt,” she said, lightly. 

“To you, Beth,” continued Miss Merrick, “I 
have given the same sum.” 

Beth’s heart sank, and tears forced themselves 
into her eyes in spite of her efforts to restrain 
them. She said nothing. 

Aunt Jane turned to her brother. 

“I have also provided for you, John, in the 
sum of five thousand dollars.” 

“Me!”' he exclaimed, astounded. “Why, 
suguration, Jane, I don’t — ” 

“Silence!” she cried, sternly. “I expect 
neither thanks nor protests. If you take care of 
the money, John, it will last you as long as you 
live.” 

Uncle John laughed. He doubled up in his 
chair and rocked back and forth, shaking his lit- 
tle round body as if he had met with the most 
amusing thing that had ever happened in his life. 
Aunt Jane stared at him, while Louise and Beth 
looked their ashonishment, but Patsy’s clear 

206 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

laughter rang above Uncle John’s gasping 
chuckles. 

“I hope, dear Uncle,” said she, mischievously, 
“that when poor Aunt Jane is gone you’ll be able 
to buy a new necktie.” 

He looked at her whimsically, and wiped the 
tears from his eyes. 

“Thank you, Jane,” said the little man to his 
sister. “It’s a lot of money, and I’ll be proud to 
own it.” 

“Why did you laugh.’” demanded Aunt Jane. 

“I just happened to think that our old Dad 
once said I’d never be worth a dollar in all my 
life. What would he say now, Jane, if he knew 
I stood good to have five thousand — if I can 
manage to outlive you?” 

She turned from him with an expression of 
scorn. 

“In addition to these bequests,” said she, “I 
have left five thousand to the boy and twenty 
thousand to Mr. Watson. The remainder of the 
property will go to Patricia.” 

For a moment the room was intensely still. 
Then Patricia said, with quiet determination: 


207 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES/ 


“You may as well make another will,” Aunt. 
I’ll not touch a penny of your money.” 

“Why not?” asked the woman, almost fierce- 

ly- 

“You have been kind to me, and you mean 
well,” said Patricia. “I would rather not tell 
you my reasons.” 

“I demand to know them !” 

“Ah, aunt; can’t you understand, without my 
speaking?” 

“No,” said the other; but a flush crossed her 
pale cheek, nevertheless. 

Patsy arose and stumped to a position di- 
rectly in front of Jane Merrick, where she rested 
on her crutches. Her eyes were bright and full 
of indignation, and her plain little face was so 
white that every freckle showed distinctly. 

“There was a time, years' ago,” she began in 
a low voice, “when you were very rich and your 
sister Violet, my mother, was very poor. Her 
health was bad, and she had me to care for, while 
my father was very ill with a fever. She was 
proud, too, and for herself she would never have 
begged a penny of anyone; but for my sake she 

208 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

asked her rich sister to loan her a little money to 
tide her over her period of want. What did you 
do, Jane Merrick, you who lived in a beautiful 
mansion, and had more money than you could 
use? You insulted her, telling her she belonged 
to a family of beggars, and that none of them 
could wheedle your money away from you!” 

“It was true,” retorted the elder woman, stub- 
bornly. “They were after me like a drove of 
wolves — every Merrick of them all — and they 
would have ruined me if I had let them bleed me 
as they wished.” 

“So far as my mother is concerned, that’s a 
lie,” said Patsy, quietly. “She never appealed to 
you but that once, but worked as bravely as she 
could to earn money in her own poor way. The 
result was that she died, and I was left to the 
care of strangers until my father was well enough 
to support me.” 

She paused, and again the room seemed un- 
naturally still. 

“I’m sorry, girl,” said Aunt Jane, at last, in 
trembling tones. “I was wrong. I see it now, 
and I am sorry I refused Violet.” 


u 


209 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Then I forgive you !” said Patsy, impulsive- 
ly. “I forgive you all, Aunt Jane; for through 
your own selfishness you cut yourself off from all 
your family — from all who might have loved 
you — and you have lived all these years a soli- 
tary and loveless life. There’ll be no grudge of 
mine to follow you to the grave, Aunt Jane. 
“But,” her voice hardening, “I’ll never touch a 
penny of the money that was denied my poor 
dead mother. Thank God the old Dad and I 
are independent, and can earn our own living.” 

Uncle John came to where Patsy stood and 
put both arms around her, pressing her — crutches 
and all — close to his breast. Then he released 
her, and without a word stalked from the room. 

“Leave me, now,” said Aunt Jane, in a husky 
voice. “I want time to think.” 

Patricia hobbled forward, placed one hand 
caressingly upon the gray head, and then 'bent 
and kissed Aunt Jane’s withered cheek. 

“That’s right,” she whispered. “Think it 
over, dear. It’s all past and done, now, and I’m 
sorry I had to hurt you. But — not a pennyTaunt 
—remember, not a penny will I take!” 


210 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Then she left the room, followed by Louise 
and Beth, both of whom were glad to be alone 
that they might conquer their bitter disappoint- 
ment. 

Louise, however, managed to accept the mat- 
ter philosophically, as the following extract from 
her letter to her mother will prove: 

“After all, it isn’t so bad as it might be, mater, 
dear,” she wrote. “I’ll get five thousand, at 
the very worst, and that will help us on our way 
considerably. But I am quite sure that Patsy 
means just what she says, and that she will yet 
induce Aunt Jane to alter her will. In that case 
I believe the estate will either be divided between 
Beth and me, or I will get it all. Anyway, I 
shall stay here and play my best cards until the 
game is finished.” 


21 1 


CHAPTER XIX. 


DUPLICITY. 

Aunt Jane had a bad night, as might have 
been expected after her trials of the previous 
day. 

She sent for Patricia early in the forenoon, 
and when the girl arrived she was almost shocked 
by the change in her aunt’s appearance. The 
invalid’s face seemed drawn and gray, and she 
lay upon her cushions breathing heavily and with- 
out any appearance of vitality or strength. Even 
the sharpness and piercing quality of her hard 
gray eyes was lacking and the glance she cast at 
her niece was rather pleading than defiant. 

“I want you to reconsider your decision of 
yesterday, Patricia,” she begun. 

“Don’t ask me to do that, aunt,” replied the 
girl, firmly. “My mind is fully made up.” 


212 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“I have made mistakes, I know,” continued 
the woman feebly; “but I want to do the right 
thing, at last.” 

“Then I will show you how,” said Patricia, 
quickly. “You mustn’t think me impertinent, 
aunt, for I don’t mean to be so at all. But tell 
me; why did you wish to leave me your money?” 

“Because your nature is quite like my own, 
child, and I admire your independence and 
spirit” 

“But my cousins are much more deserving.” 
said she, thoughtfully. “Louise is very sweet 
and amiable, and loves you more than I do, while 
Beth is the most sensible and practical girl I have 
ever known.” 

“It may be so,” returned Aunt Jane, impa- 
tiently; “but I have left each a legacy, Patricia, 
and you alone are my choice for the mistress of 
Elmhurst. I told you yesterday I should not try 
to be just. I mean to leave my property accord- 
ing to my personal desire, and no one shall hinder 
me.” This last with a spark of her old vigor. 

“But that is quite wrong, aunt, and if you 
desire me to inherit your wealth you will be dis- 


213 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


appointed. A moment ago you said you wished 
to do the right thing, at last. Don’t you know 
what that is ?” 

“Perhaps you will tell me,” said Aunt Jane, 
curiously. 

“With pleasure,” returned Patsy. “Mr. Brad- 
ley left you this property because he loved you, 
and love blinded him to all sense of justice. Such 
an estate should not have passed into the hands 
of aliens because of a lover’s whim. He should 
have considered his own flesh and blood.” 

“There was no one but his sister, who at that 
time was not married and had no son,” explained 
Aunt Jane, calmly. “But he did not forget her 
and asked me to look after Katherine Bradley in 
case she or her heirs ever needed help. I have 
done so. When his mother died, I had the boy 
brought here, and he has lived here ever since.” 

“But the property ought to be his,” said Pat- 
ricia, earnestly. “It would please me beyond 
measure to have you make your will in his favor, 
and you would be doing the right thing at last.” 

“I won’t,” said Aunt Jane, angrily. 

“It would also be considerate and just to the 


214 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

memory of Mr. Bradley,” continued the girl. 
“ What’s going to became of Kenneth ?” 

“I have left him five thousand,” said the 
woman. 

“Not enough to educate him properly,” re- 
plied Patsy, with a shake of her head. “Why, 
the boy might become a famous artist, if he had 
good masters; and a person with an artistic tem- 
perament, such as his, should have enough money 
to be independent of his art.” 

Aunt Jane coughed, unsympathetically. 

“The boy is nothing to me,” she said. 

“But he ought to have Elmhurst, at least,” 
pleaded the girl. “Won’t you leave it to him, 
Aunt Jane?” 

“No.” 

“Then do as you please,” cried Patsy, flying 
angry in her turn. “As a matter of justice, the 
place should never have been yours, and I won’t 
accept a dollar of the money if I starve to death !” 

“Think of your father,” suggested Aunt 
Jane, cunningly. 

“Ah, I’ve done that,” said the girl, “and I 
know how many comforts I could buy for the 


215 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

dear Major. Also I’d like to go to a girl’s col- 
lege, like Smith or Wellesley, and get a proper 
education. But not with your money, Aunt Jane. 
It would burn my fingers. Always I would 
think that if you had not been hard and miserly 
this same money would have saved my mother’s 
life. No! I loathe your money. Keep it or 
throw it to the dogs, if you won’t give it to the 
boy it belongs to. But don’t you dare to will 
your selfish hoard to me.” 

“Let us change the subject, Patricia.” 

“Will you change your will?” 

“No.” 

“Then I won’t talk to you. I’m angry and 
hurt, and if I stay here I’ll say things I shall be 
sorry for.” 

With these words she marched out of the 
room, her cheeks flaming, and Aunt Jane looked 
after her with admiring eyes. 

“She’s right,” she whispered to herself. “It's 
just as I’d do under the same circumstances!” 

This interview was but the beginning of a 
series that lasted during the next fortnight, dur- 
ing which time the invalid persisted in sending 


216 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


for Patricia and fighting the same fight over 
and over again. Always the girl pleaded for 
Kenneth to inherit, and declared she would not 
accept the money and Elmhurst ; and always 
Aunt Jane stubbornly refused to consider the 
boy and tried to tempt the girl with pictures of 
the luxury and pleasure that riches would bring 
her. 

The interviews were generally short and spir- 
ited, however, and during the intervals Patsy 
associated more than ever with her cousins, both 
of whom grew really fond of her. 

They fully believed Patricia when she de- 
clared she would never accept the inheritance, and 
although neither Beth nor Louise could under- 
stand such foolish sentimentality they were equal- 
ly overjoyed at the girl’s stand and the firmness 
with which she maintained it. With Patsy out 
of the field it was quite possible the estate would 
be divided between her cousins, or even go en- 
tire to one or the other of them; and this hope 
constantly buoyed their spirits and filled their 
days with interest as they watched the fight be- 
tween their aunt and their cousin. 


217 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

Patricia never told them she was pleading so 
hard for the boy. It would only pain her cousins 
and make them think she was disloyal to their 
interests; but she lost no opportunity when with 
her Aunt Jane of praising Kenneth and proving 
his ability, and finally she seemed to win her 
point. 

Aunt Jane was really worn out with the con- 
stant squabbling with her favorite niece. She 
had taken a turn for the worse, too, and began 
to decline rapidly. So, her natural cunning and 
determination to have her own way enhanced by 
her illness, the woman decided to deceive Patricia 
and enjoy her few remaining days in peace. 

“Suppose,” she said to Mr. Watson, “my pres- 
ent will stands, and after my death the estate be- 
comes the property of Patricia. Can she refuse 
it?” 

“Not legally,” returned the lawyer. “It 
would remain in her name, but under my control, 
during her minority. When she became of age, 
however, she could transfer it as she might 
choose.” 

“By that time she will have gained more 


218 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


sense,” declared Aunt Jane, much pleased with 
this aspect of the case, “and it isn’t reasonable 
that having enjoyed a fortune fo^a time any girl 
would throw it away. I’ll stick to my point, Silas, 
but I’ll try to make Patricia believe she has won 
me over.” 

Therefore, the very next time that the girl 
pleaded with her to make Kenneth her heir, she 
said, with a clever assumption of resignation: 

“Very well, Patricia; you shall have your 
way. My only desire, child, is to please you, as 
you well know, and if you long to see Kenneth 
the owner of Elmhurst I will have a new will 
drawn in his favor.” 

Patricia could scarcely believe her ears. 

“Do you really mean it, aunt?” she asked, 
flushing red with pleasure. 

“I mean exactly what I say, and now let us 
cease all bickerings, my dear, and my few re- 
maining days will be peaceful and happy.” 

Patricia thanked her aunt with eager words, 
and said, as indeed she felt, that she could almost 
love Aunt Jane for her final, if dilatory, act- of 
justice. 


219 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

Mr. Watson chanced to enter the room at that 
moment, and the girl cried out: 

“Tell him, aunt! Let him get the paper ready 
at once.” 

“There is no reason for haste/’ said Aunt 
Jane, meeting the lawyer’s questioning gaze with 
some embarrassment. 

Silas Watson was an honorable and upright 
man, and his client’s frequent doubtful methods 
had in past years met his severe censure. Yet 
he had once promised his dead friend, Tom Brad- 
ley, that he would serve Jane Merrick faithfully. 
He h^d striven to do so, bearing with her faults 
of character when he found that he could not cor* 
rect them. His influence over her had never been 
very strong, however, and he had learned that it 
was the most easy as well as satisfactory method 
to bbw to her iron will. 

Her recent questionings had prepared him 
for some act of duplicity, but he had by no means 
understood her present object, nor did she mean 
that he should. So she answered his questioning 
look by saying: 

“I have promised Patricia that you shall draw 


220 



Patsy sprang forward and kissed her rapturously, 





AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


a new will, leaving all my estate to Kenneth 
Forbes, except for the bequests that are men- 
tioned in the present paper.” 

The lawyer regarded her with amazement. 
Then his brow darkened, for he thought she was 
playing with the girl, and was not sincere. 

“Tell him to draw up the paper right away, 
aunt!” begged Patricia, with sparkling eyes. 

“As soon as you can, Silas,” said the invalid. 

“And, aunt, can’t you spare a little more to 
Louise and Beth? It would make them so 
happy.” 

“Double the amount I had allowed to each of 
them,” the woman commanded her lawyer. 

“Can it all be ready to sign tonight?” asked 
Patsy, excitedly. 

“I’ll try, my dear,” replied the old lawyer, 
gravely. Then he turned to Jane Merrick. 

“Are you in earnest?” he asked. 

Patsy’s heart suddenly sank. 

“Yes,” was the reply. “I am tired of oppos- 
ing this child’s wishes. What do I care what be- 
comes of my money, when I am gone? All that 
I desire is to have my remaining days peaceful.” 


221 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

The girl spring forward and kissed her rap- 
turously. 

“They shall be, aunt!” she cried. “I promise 
it.” 


222 


CHAPTER XX. 


IN THE GARDEN. 

From this hour Patsy devoted herself untir- 
ingly to Aunt Jane, and filled her days with as 
much sunshine as her merry ways and happy na- 
ture could confer. Yet there was one thing that 
rendered her uneasy : the paper that Lawyer Wat- 
son had so promptly drawn had never yet been 
signed and witnessed. Her aunt had allowed 
her to read it, saying she wished the girl to 
know she had acted in good faith, and Patsy had 
no fault at all to find with the document. But 
Aunt Jane was tired, and deferred signing it that 
evening. The next day no witnesses could be 
secured, and so another postponement followed, 
and upon one pretext or another the matter was 
put off until Patricia became suspicious. 

Noting this, Aunt Jane decided to complete 


223 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

her act of deception. She signed the will in the 
girl’s presence, with Oscar and Susan to witness 
her signature. Lawyer Watson was not present 
on this occasion, and as soon as Patsy had left 
her Miss Merrick tore off the signatures and 
burned them, wrote “void” in bold letters across 
the face of the paper, and then, it being rendered 
of no value, she enclosed it in a large yellow enve- 
lope, sealed it, and that evening handed the enve- 
lope to Mr. Watson with the request that it be 
not opened until after her death. 

Patricia, in her delight, whispered to the law- 
yer that the paper was really signed, and he was 
well pleased and guarded the supposed treasure 
carefully. The girl also took occasion to inform 
both Beth and Louise that a new will had been 
made in which they both profited largely, but she 
kept the secret of who the real heir was, and both 
her cousins grew to believe they would share 
equally in the entire property. 

So now an air of harmony settled upon Elm- 
hurst, and Uncle John joined the others in ad- 
miration of the girl who had conquered the stub- 


224 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


bornness of her stern old aunt and proved her- 
self so unselfish and true. 

One morning Aunt Jane had Phibbs wheel her 
into her little garden, as usual, and busied her- 
self examining the flowers and plants of which 
she had always been so fond. 

**James has been neglecting his work, lately,” 
she said, sharply, to her attendant. 

“He’s very queer, ma’am,” replied old Mar- 
tha, “ever since the young ladies an’ Master 
John came to Elmhurst. Strangers he never 
could abide, as you know, and he runs and hides 
himself as soon as he sees any of ’em about.” 

“Poor James!” said Miss Merrick, recalling 
her old gardener’s infirmity. “But he must not 
neglect my flowers in this way, or they will be 
ruined.” 

“He. isn’t so afraid of Master John,” went on 
Phibbs, reflectively, “as he is of the young ladies. 
Sometimes Master John talks to James, in his 
quiet way, and I’ve noticed he listens to him quite 
respectively — like he always does to you, Miss 
Jane.” 

“Go and find James, and ask him to step 


15 


225 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

here,” commanded the mistress, “and then guard 
the opening in the hedge, and see that none of my 
nieces appear to bother him.” 

Phibbs obediently started upon her errand, 
and came upon James in the tool-house, at the 
end of the big garden. He was working among 
his flower pots and seemed in a quieter mood 
than usual. 

Phibbs delivered her message, and the gar- 
dener at once started to obey. He crossed the 
garden unobserved and entered the little enclo- 
sure where Miss June’s chair stood. The invalid 
was leaning back on her cushions, but her eyes 
were wide open and staring. 

“I’ve come, Miss,” said James; and then, get- 
ting no reply, he looked into her face. A gleam 
of sunlight filtered through the btfehes and fell 
aslant Jane Merrick’s eyes; but not a lash quiv- 
ered. 

James gave a scream that rang through the 
air and silenced even the birds. Then, shrieking 
like the madman he was, he bounded away 
through the hedge, sending old Martha whirling 


226 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


into a rose-bush, and fled as if a thousand fiends 
were at his heels. 

John Merrick and Mr. Watson, who were not 
far off, aroused by the bloodcurdling screams, 
ran toward Aunt Jane’s garden, and saw in a 
glance what had happened. 

“Poor Jane,” whispered the brother, bending 
over to tenderly close the staring eyes, “her fate 
has overtaken her unawares.” 

“Better so,” said the lawyer, gently. “She 
has found Peace at last.” 

Together they wheeled her back into her 
chamber, and called the women to care for their 
dead mistress. 


227 


CHAPTER XXL 


READING THE WILL. 

Aunt Jane’s funeral was extremely simple 
and quiet. The woman had made no friends dur- 
ing her long residence in the neighborhood, hav- 
ing isolated herself at “the big house” and re- 
fused to communicate in any way with the fam- 
ilies living near by. Therefore, although her 
death undoubtedly aroused much interest and 
comment, no one cared to be present at the obse- 
quies. 

So the minister came from Elmwood, and be- 
ing unable to say much that was good or bad of 
“the woman who had departed from this vale of 
tears,” he confined his remarks to generalities 
and made them as brief as possible. Then the 
body was borne to the little graveyard a mile 
away, followed by the state carriage, containing 


228 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


the three nieces and Kenneth; the drag with 
Silas Watson and Uncle John, the former driv- 
ing; and then came the Elmhurst carryall with 
the servants. James did not join these last; nor 
did he appear at the house after that dreadful 
scene in the garden. He had a little room over 
the tool-house, which Jane Merrick had had pre- 
pared for him years ago, and here he locked him- 
self in day and night, stealthily emerging but to 
secure the food Susan carried and placed before 
his door. 

No one minded James much, for all the in- 
mates of Elhurst were under severe and exciting 
strain in the days preceding the funeral. 

The girls wept a little, but it was more on 
account of the solemnity following the shadow 
of death than for any great affection they bore 
their aunt. Patsy, indeed, tried to deliver a trib- 
ute to Aunt Jane’s memory; but it was not an 
emphatic success. 

“I’m sure she had a good heart,” said the 
girl, “and if she had lived more with her own 
family and cultivated her friends she would have 

229 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

been much less hard and selfish. At the last, you 
know, she was quite gentle.” 

“I hadn’t noticed it,” remarked Beth. 

“Oh, I did. And she made a new will, after 
that awful one she told us of, and tried to be just 
and fair to all.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Louise. “Tell 
us, Patsy, what does the will say? You must 
know all about it.” 

“Mr. Watson is going to read it, after the 
funeral,” replied the girl, “and then you will 
know as much about it as I do. I mustn’t tell 
secrets, my dear.” 

So Louise and Beth waited in much nervous 
excitement for the final realization of their hopes 
or fears, and during the drive to the cemetary 
there was little conversation in the state car- 
riage. Kenneth’s sensitive nature was greatly 
affected by the death of the woman who had 
played so important a part in the brief story of 
his life, and the awe it inspired rendered him 
gloomy and silent. Lawyer Watson had once 
warned him that Miss Merrick’s death might 


230 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


make him an outcast, and he felt the insecurity 
of his present position. 

But Patsy, believing he would soon know of 
his good fortune, watched him curiously during 
the ride, and beamed upon him as frequently as 
her own low spirits would permit. 

“You know, Ken,” she reminded him, “that 
whatever happens we are always to remain 
friends.” 

“Of course,” replied the boy, briefly. 

The girl had thrown aside her crutches, by 
this time, and planned to return to her work im- 
mediately after the funeral. 

The brief services at the cemetery being con- 
cluded, the little cavalcade returned to Elmhurst, 
where luncheon was awaiting them. 

Then Mr. Watson brought into the drawing 
room the tin box containing the important Elm- 
hurst papers in his possession, and having re- 
quested all present to be seated he said : 

“In order to clear up the uncertainty that at 
present exists concerning Miss Merrick’s last 
will and testament, I will now proceed to read 


231 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

to you the document, which will afterward be 
properly probated according to law.” 

There was no need to request their attention. 
An intense stillness pervaded the room. 

The lawyer calmly unlocked the tin box and 
drew out the sealed yellow envelope which Miss 
Merrick had recently given him. Patsy’s heart 
was beating with eager expectancy. She watched 
the lawyer break the seal, draw out the paper 
and then turn red and angry. Tie hesitated a 
moment, and then thrust the useless document 
into its enclosure and cast it aside. 

“Is anything wrong?” asked the girl in a low 
whisper, which was yet distinctly heard by all. 

Mr. Watson seemed amazed. Jane Merrick’s 
deceitful trickery, discovered so soon after her 
death, was almost horrible for him to contem- 
plate. He had borne much from this erratic wo- 
man, but had never believed her capable of such 
an act. 

So he said, in irritable tones : 

“Miss Merrick gave me this document a few 
days ago, leading me to believe it was her last 
will. I had prepared it under her instruction and 


232 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


understood that it was properly signed. But she 
has herself torn off and destroyed the signature 
and marked the paper 'void/ so that the will pre- 
viously made is the only one that is valid.” 

"What do you mean?” cried Patsy, in amaze- 
ment. "Isn’t Kenneth to inherit Elmhurst, after 
all?” 

"Me! Me inherit?” exclaimed the boy. 

"That is what she promised me,” declared 
Patsy, while tears of indignation stood in her 
eyes. "I saw her sign it, myself, and if she has 
fooled me and destroyed the signature she’s 
nothing but an old fraud — and I’m glad she’s 
dead!” 

With this she threw herself, sobbing, upon a 
sofa, and Louise and Beth, shocked to learn that 
after all their cousin had conspired against them, 
forebore any attempt to comfort her. 

But Uncle John, fully as indignant as Patri- 
cia, came to her side and laid a hand tenderly 
on the girl’s head. 

"Never mind, little one,” he said. “Jane was 
always cruel and treacherous by nature, and we 
might have expected she’d deceive her friends 


233 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


even in death. But you did the best you could, 
Patsy, dear, and it can’t be helped now.” 

Meantime the lawyer had been fumbling in 
the box, and now drew out the genuine will. 

“Give me your attention, please,” said he. 

Patsy sat up and glared at him. 

“I won’t take a cent of it!” she exclaimed. 

“Be silent!” demanded the lawyer, sternly. 
“You have all, I believe, been told by Miss Mer- 
rick of the terms of this will, which is properly 
signed and attested. But it is my duty to read 
it again, from beginning to end, and I will do 
so.” 

Uncle John smiled when his bequest was 
mentioned, and Beth frowned. Louise, however, 
showed no sign of disappointment. There had 
been a miserable scramble for this inheritance, 
she reflected, and she was glad the struggle was 
over. The five thousand dollars would come in 
handy, after all, and it was that much more than 
she had expected to have before she received 
Aunt Jane’s invitation. Perhaps she and her 
mother would use part of it for a European trip, 
if their future plans seemed to warrant it. 


234 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“As far as I am concerned,” said Patsy, de- 
fiantly, “you may as well tear up this will, too. 
I won’t have that shameful old woman’s money.” 

“That is a matter the law does not allow you 
to decide,” returned the lawyer, calmly. “You 
will note the fact that I am the sole executor of 
the estate, and must care for it in your interests 
until you are of age. Then it will be turned 
over to you to do as you please with.” 

“Can I give it away, if I want to?” 

“Certainly. It is now yours without recourse, 
and although you cannot dispose of it until you 
are of legal age, there will be nothing then to 
prevent your transfering it to whomsoever you 
please. I called Miss Merrick’s attention to this 
fact when you refused to accept the legacy.” 

“What did she say?” 

“That you would be more wise then, and 
would probably decide to keep it.” 

Patsy turned impulsively to the boy, 

“Kenneth,” she said, “I faithfully promise, 
in the presence of these witnesses, to give you 
Elmhurst and all Aunt Jane’s money as soon as 
I am of age.” 


235 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Good for you, Patsy,” said Uncle John. 

The boy seemed bewildered. 

“I don’t want the money — really I don’t!” 
he protested. “The five thousand she left me 
will be enough. But I’d like to live here at Elm- 
hurst for a time, until it’s sold or some one else 
comes to live in the house!” 

“It’s yours,” said Patsy, with a grand air. 
“You can live here forever.” 

Mr. Watson seemed puzzled. 

“If that is your wish, Miss Patricia,” bowing 
gravely in her direction, “I will see that* it is 
carried out. Although I am, in this matter, your 
executor, I shall defer to your wishes as much 
as possible.” 

“Thank you,” she said and then, after a mo- 
ment’s reflection, she added : “Can’t you give to 
Louise and Beth the ten thousand dollars they 
were to have under the other will, instead of the 
five thousand each that this one gives them?” 

“I will consider that matter,” he replied ; 
“perhaps it can be arranged.” 

Patsy’s cousins opened their eyes at this, and 
began to regard her with more friendly glances. 

236 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

To have ten thousand each instead of five would 
be a very nice thing, indeed, and Miss Patricia 
Doyle had evidently become a young lady whose 
friendship it would pay to cultivate. If she in- 
tended to throw away the inheritance, a portion 
of it might fall to their share. 

They were expressing to Patsy their grati- 
tude when old Donald suddenly appeared in the 
doorway and beckoned to Uncle John. 

“Will you please come to see James, sir?” 
he asked. “The poor fellow’s dying.” 


237 


CHAPTER XXII. 


JAMES TELLS A STRANGE STORY. 

Uncle John followed the coachman up the 
stairs to the little room above the tool-house, 
where the old man had managed to crawl after 
old Sam had given him a vicious kick in the 
chest. 

“Is he dead?” he asked. 

“No, sir; but mortally hurt, I’m thinkin’. It 
must have happened while we were at the fu- 
neral.” 

He opened the door, outside which Susan and 
Oscar watched with frightened faces, and led 
John Merrick into the room. 

James lay upon his bed with closed eyes. 
His shirt, above the breast, was reeking with 
blood. 


238 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“The doctor should be sent for,” said Uncle 
John. 

“He’ll be here soon, for one of the stable 
boys rode to fetch him. But I thought you ought 
to know at once, sir.” 

“Quite right, Donald.” 

As they stood there the wounded man moved 
and opened his eyes, looking from one to the 
other of them wonderingly. Finally he smiled. 

“Ah, it’s Donald,” he said. 

“Yes, old friend,” answered the coachman. 
“And this is Mr. John.” 

“Mr. John? Mr. John? I don’t quite re- 
member you, sir,” with a slight shake of the gray 
head. “And Donald, lad, you’ve grown wonder- 
ful old, somehow.” 

“It’s the years, Jeemes,” was the reply. 
“The years make us all old, sooner or later.” 

The gardener seemed puzzled, and examined 
his companions more carefully. He did not 
seem to be suffering any pain. 

Finally he sighed. 

“The dreams confuse me,” he said, as if to 
explain something. “I can’t always separate 


239 


AUNT JANUS NIECES. 


them, the dreams from the real. Have I been 
sick, Donald ?” 

“Yes, lad. You’re sick now.” 

The gardener closed his eyes, and lay silent. 

“Do you think he’s sane?” whispered Uncle 
John. 

“I do, sir. He’s sane for the first time in 
years.” 

James looked at them again, and slowly 
raised his hand to wipe the damp from his fore- 
head. 

“About Master Tom,” he said, falteringly. 
“Master Tom’s dead, ain’t he?” 

“Yes, Jeems.” 

“That was real, then, an’ no dream. I mind 
it all, now — the shriek of the whistle, the crash, 
and the screams of the dying. Have I told you 
about it, Donald?” 

“No, lad.” 

“It all happened before we knew it. I was 
on one side the car and Master Tom on the other. 
My side was on top, when I came to myself, 
and Master Tom was buried in the rubbish. God 
knows how I got him out, but I did. Donald, 


240 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


the poor master’s side was crushed in, and both 
legs splintered. I knew at once he was dying, 
when I carried him to the grass and laid him 
down; and he knew it, too. Yes, the master 
knew he was done ; and him so young and happy, 
and just about to be married to — to — the name 
escapes me, lad!” 

His voice sank to a low mumble, and he 
closed his eyes wearily. 

The watchers at his side stood still and 
waited. It might be that death had overtaken 
the poor fellow. But no; he moved again, and 
opened his eyes, continuing his speech in a 
stronger tone. 

“It was hard work to get the paper for Mas- 
ter Tom,” he said ; “but he swore he must have 
it before he died. I ran all the way to the station 
house and back — a mile or more — and brought 
the paper and a pen and ink, besides. It was but 
a telegraph blank — all I could find. Naught but 
a telegraph blank, lad.” 

Again his voice trailed away into a mum- 
bling whisper, but now Uncle John and Donald 


241 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

looked into one another’s eyes with sudden in- 
terest. 

“He mustn’t die yet!” said the little man; 
and the coachman leaned over the wounded form 
and said, distinctly: 

“Yes, lad; I’m listening.” 

“To be sure,” said James, brightening a bit. 
“So I held the paper for him, and the brakeman 
supported Master Tom’s poor body, and he 
wrote out the will as clear as may be.” 

“The will!” 

“Sure enough; Master Tom’s last will. Isn’t 
my name on it, too, where I signed it? And the 
conductor’s beside it, for the poor brakeman 
didn’t dare let him go ? Of course. Who should 
sign the will with Master Tom but me — his old 
servant and friend? Am I right, Donald?” 

“Yes, lad.” 

“ ‘Now,’ says Master Tom, ‘take it to Law- 
yer Watson, James, and bid him care for it. And 
give my love to Jane’ — that’s the name, Donald; 
the one I thought I’d forgot — ‘and now lay me 
back and let me die.’ His very words, Donald. 
And we laid him back and he died. And he 


242 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


died. Poor Master Tom. Poor, poor young 
Master. And him to — be married — in a — ” 

“The paper, James!” cried Uncle John, re- 
calling the dying man to the present. “What 
became of it?” 

“Sir, I do not know you,” answered James, 
suspiciously. “The paper’s for Lawyer Watson. 
It’s he alone shall have it.” 

“Here I am, James,” cried the lawyer, thrust- 
ing the others aside and advancing to the bed. 
“Give me the paper. Where is it ? I am Lawyer 
Watson!” 

The gardener laughed — a horrible, croaking 
laugh that ended with a gasp of pain. 

“You Lawyer Watson?” he cried, a moment 
later, in taunting tones. “Why, you old fool, 
Si Watson’s as young as Master Tom — as young 
as I am! You — you Lawyer Watson! Ha, ha, 
ha!” 

“Where is the paper?” demanded the lawyer 
fiercely. 

James stared at him an instant, and then sud- 
denly collapsed and fell back inert upon the bed. 


243 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Have you heard all?” asked John Merrick, 
laying his hand on the lawyer’s shoulder. 

“Yes; I followed you here as soon as I could. 
Tom Bradley made another will, as he lay dying. 
I must have it, Mr. Merrick.” 

“Then you must find it yourself,” said Don- 
ald gravely, “for Jemes is dead.” 

The doctor, arriving a few minutes later, ver- 
ified the statement. It was evident that the old 
gardener, for years insane, had been so influ- 
enced by Miss Merrick’s death that he had wan- 
dered into the stables where he received his 
death blow. When he regained consciousness 
the mania had vanished, and in a shadowy way 
he could remember and repeat that last scene of 
the tragedy that had deprived him of his reason. 
The story was logical enough, and both Mr. 
Watson and John Merrick believed it. 

“Tom Bradley was a level-headed fellow un- 
til he fell in love with your sister,” said the law- 
yer to his companion. “But after that he would 
not listen to reason, and perhaps he had a pre- 
monition of his own sudden death, for he made 
a will bequeathing all he possessed to his sweet- 


244 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


heart. I drew up the will myself, and argued 
against the folly of it; but he had his own way. 
Afterward, in the face of death, I believe he be- 
came more sensible, and altered his will.” 

“Yet James’ story may all be the effect of a 
disordered mind,” said Uncle John. 

“I do not think so; but unless he has de- 
stroyed the paper in his madness, we shall be 
able to find it among his possessions.” 

With this idea in mind, Mr. Watson ordered 
the servants to remove the gardener’s body to a 
room in the carriage-house, and as soon as this 
was done he set to work to search for the paper, 
assisted by John Merrick. 

“It was a telegraph blank, he said.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we cannot mistake it, if we find any 
papers at all,” declared the lawyer. 

The most likely places in James’ room for 
anything to be hidden were a small closet, in 
which were shelves loaded with odds and ends, 
and an old clothes-chest that was concealed un- 
derneath the bed. 

This last was first examined, but found to 
245 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


contain merely an assortment of old clothing. 
Having tossed these in a heap upon the floor the 
lawyer begun an examination of the closet, the 
shelves promising well because of several bun- 
dles of papers they contained. 

While busy over these, he heard Uncle John 
say, quietly: 

“I’ve got it” 

The lawyer bounded from the closet. The 
little man had been searching the pockets of the 
clothing taken from the chest, and from a faded 
velvet coat he drew out the telegraph blank. 

“Is it the will?” asked the lawyer, eagerly. 

“Read it yourself,” said Uncle John. 

Mr. Watson put on his glasses. 

“Yes; this is Tom Bradley’s handwriting, 
sure enough. The will is brief, but it will hold 
good in law. Listen : T bequeath to Jane Mer- 
rick, my affianced bride, the possession and use 
of my estate during the term of her life. On her 
death all such possessions, with their accrument, 
shall be transferred to my sister, Katherine 
Bradley, if she then survives, to have and to hold 
by her heirs and assignees forever. But should 

246 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

she die without issue previous to the death of 
Jane Merrick, I then appoint my friend and at- 
torney, Silas Watson, to distribute the property 
among such organized and worthy charities as 
he may select.’ That is all.” 

“Quite enough,” said Uncle John, nodding 
approval. 

“And it is properly signed and witnessed. 
The estate is Kenneth’s, sir, after all, for he is 
the sole heir of his mother, Katherine Bradley 
Forbes. Hurrah!” ended the lawyer, waving the 
yellow paper above his head. 

“Hurrah!” echoed Uncle John, gleefully; 
and the two men shook hands. 


247 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


PATSY ADOPTS AN UNCLE. 

Uncle John and Mr. Watson did not appear 
at dinner, being closeted in the former’s room. 
This meal, however, was no longer a state func- 
tion, being served by the old servants as a mere 
matter of routine. Indeed, the arrangements of 
the household had been considerably changed by 
the death of its mistress, and without any real 
head to direct them the servants were patiently 
awaiting the advent of a new master or mis- 
tress. It did not seem clear to them yet whether 
Miss Patricia or Lawyer Watson was to take 
charge of Elmhurst; but there were few tears 
shed for Jane Merrick, and the new regime could 
not fail to be an improvement over the last. 

At dinner the: young folks chatted together 
in a friendly and eager manner concerning the 

248 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


events of the day. They knew of old James’ 
unfortunate end, but being unaware of its import 
gave it but passing attention. The main subject 
of conversation was Aunt Jane’s surprising act 
in annulling her last will and forcing Patricia to 
accept the inheritance when. she did not want it. 
Kenneth, being at his ease when alone with the 
three cousins, protested that it would not be 
right for Patsy to give him all the estate. But, 
as she was so generous, he would accept enough 
of his Uncle Tom’s money to educate him as an 
artist and provide for himself an humble home. 
Louise and Beth, having at last full knowledge of 
their cousin’s desire to increase their bequests, 
were openly very grateful for her good will, al- 
though secretly they could not fail to resent 
Patsy’s choice of the boy as the proper heir of 
his uncle’s fortune. The balance of power 
seemed to be in Patricia’s hands, however; so it 
would be folly at this juncture to offend her. 

Altogether, they were all better provided for 
than they had feared would be the case; so the 
little party spent a pleasant evening and separ- 
ated early, Beth and Louise to go to their rooms 


249 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and canvass quietly the events of the day, and the 
boy to take a long stroll through the country 
lanes to cool his bewildered brain. Patsy wrote 
a long letter to the major, telling him she would 
be home in three days, and then she went to bed 
and slept peacefully. 

After breakfast they were all again sum- 
moned to the drawing-room, to their great sur- 
prise. Lawyer Watson and Uncle John were 
there, looking as grave as the important occa- 
sion demanded, and the former at once proceeded 
to relate the scene in James’ room, his story of 
the death of Thomas Bradley, and the subse- 
quent finding of the will. 

“This will, which has just been recovered,” 
continued the lawyer, impressively, “was made 
subsequent to the one under which Jane Mer- 
rick inherited, and therefore supercedes it. Miss 
Jane had, as you perceive, a perfect right to the 
use of the estate during her lifetime, but no 
right whatever to will a penny of it to anyone, 
Mr. Bradley having provided for that most fully. 
For this reason the will I read to you yesterday 
is of no effect, and Kenneth Forbes inherits 


250 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

from his uncle, through his mother, all of the 
estate.” 

Blank looks followed Mr. Watson’s state- 
ment. 

“Good-by to my five thousand,” said Uncle 
John, with his chuckling laugh. “But I’m much 
obliged to Jane, nevertheless.” 

“Don’t we get anything at all?” asked Beth, 
with quivering lip. 

“No, my dear,” answered the lawyer, gently. 
“Your aunt owned nothing to give you.” 

Patsy laughed. She felt wonderfully re- 
lieved. 

“Wasn’t I the grand lady, though, with 
all the fortune I never had?” she cried merrily. 
“But ’twas really fine to be rich for a day, and 
toss the money around as if I didn’t have to 
dress ten heads of hair in ten hours to earn my 
bread and butter.” 

Louise smiled. 

“It was all a great farce,” she said. “I shall 
take the afternoon train to the city. What an 
old fraud our dear Aunt Jane was! And how 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

foolish of me to return her hundred dollar 
check.” 

“I used mine,” said Beth, bitterly. “It’s all 
I’ll ever get, it seems.” And then the thought of 
the Professor and his debts overcame her and she 
burst into tears. 

The boy sat doubled within his chair, so over- 
come by the extraordinary fortune that had over- 
taken him that he could not speak, nor think 
even clearly as yet. 

Patsy tried to comfort Beth. 

“Never mind, dear,” said she. “We’re no 
worse off than before we came, are we? And 
we’ve had a nice vacation. Let’s forget all dis- 
appointments and be grateful to Aunt Jane’s 
memory. As far as she knew, she tried to be 
good to us.” 

“I’m going home today,” said Beth, angrily 
drying her eyes. 

“We’ll all go home,” said Patsy, cheerfully. 

“For my part,” remarked Uncle John, in a 
grave voice, “I have no home.” 

Patsy ran up and put her arm around his 
neck. 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Poor Uncle John!” she cried. “Why, 
you’re worse off than any of us. Whet’s going 
to become of you, I wonder ?” 

“I’m wondering that myself,” said the little 
man, meekly. 

“Ah! You can stay here,” said the boy, sud- 
denly arousing from his apathy. 

“No,” replied Uncle John, “the Merricks are 
out of Elmhurst now, and it returns to its right- 
ful owners. You owe me nothing, my lad.” 

“But I like you,” said Kenneth, “and you’re 
old and homeless. Stay at Elmhurst, and you 
shall always be welcome.” 

Uncle John seemed greatly affected, and 
wrung the boy’s hand earnestly. But he shook 
his head. 

“I’ve wandered all my life,” he said. “I can 
wander yet.” 

“See here,” exclaimed Patsy. “We’re all 
three your nieces, and we’ll take care of you be- 
tween us. .Won’t we, girls?” 

Louise smiled rather scornfully, and Beth 
scowled. 

“My mother and I live so simply in our little 


253 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


flat,” said one, “that we really haven’t extra 
room to keep a cat. But we shall be glad to as- 
sist Uncle John as far as we are able.” 

“Father can hardly support his own family,” 
said the other; “but I will talk to my mother 
about Uncle John when I get home, and see what 
she says.” 

“Oh, you don’t need to, indeed !” cried Patsy, 
in great indignation. “Uncle John is my dear 
mother’s brother, and he’s to come and live with 
the Major and me, as long as he cares to. There’s 
room and to spare, Uncle,” turning to him and 
clasping his hand, “and a joyful welcome into 
the bargain. No, no! say nothing at all, sir! 
Come you shall, if I have to drag you; and if 
you act naughty I’ll send for the Major to pun- 
ish you!” 

Uncle John’s eyes were moist. He looked on 
Patsy most affectionately and cast a wink at Law- 
yer Watson, who stood silently by. 

“Thank you, my dear,” said he; “but where’s 
the money to come from?” 

“Money? Bah!” she said. “Doesn’t the 
Major earn a heap with his bookkeeping, and 


254 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


haven’t I had a raise lately? Why, we’ll be as 
snug and contented as pigs in clover. Can you 
get ready to come with me today, Uncle John?” 

"‘Yes,” he said slowly. “I’ll be ready, 
Patsy.” 

So the exodus from Elmhurst took place that 
very day, and Beth travelled in one direction, 
while Louise, Patsy and Uncle John took the 
train for New York. Louise had a seat in the 
parlor car, but Patsy laughed at such extrava- 
gance. 

"It’s so much easier than walking,” she said 
to Uncle John, “that the common car is good 
enough,” and the old man readily agreed with 
her. 

Kenneth and Mr. Watson came to the sta- 
tion to see them off, and they parted with many 
mutual expressions of friendship and good will. 

Louise, especially, pressed an urgent invita- 
tion upon the new master of Elmhurst to visit 
her mother in New York, and he said he hoped 
to see all the girls again. They were really like 
cousins to him, by this time. And after they 
were all gone he rode home on Nora’s back quite 


255 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


disconsolate, in spite of his wonderful fortune. 

The lawyer, who had consented to stay at the 
mansion for a time, that the boy might not be 
lonely, had already mapped out a plan for the 
young heir’s advancement. As he rode beside 
Kenneth he said: 

“You ought to travel, and visit the art cen- 
ters of Europe, and I shall try to find a competent 
tutor to go with you.” 

“Can’t you go yourself?” asked the boy. 

The lawyer hesitated. 

“I’m getting old, and my clients are few and 
unimportant, aside from the Elmhurst inter- 
ests,” he said. “Perhaps I can manage to go 
abroad with you.” 

“I’d like that,” declared the boy. “And we’d 
stop in New York, wouldn’t we, for a time?” 

“Of course. Do you want to visit New York 
especially ?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s rather a stupid city,” said the lawyer, 
doubtfully. 

“That may be,” answered the boy. “But 
Patsy will be there, you know.” 

2 56 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


HOME AGAIN. 

The Major was at the station to meet them. 
Uncle John had shyly suggested a telegram, and 
Patsy had decided they could stand the expense 
for the pleasure of seeing the old Dad an hour 
sooner. 

The girl caught sight of him outside the gates, 
his face red and beaming as a poppy in bloom 
and his snowy moustache bristling with eager- 
ness. At once she dropped her bundles and flew 
to the Major’s arms, leaving the little man in 
her wake to rescue her belongings and follow 
after. 

He could hardly see Patsy at all, the Major 
wrapped her in such an ample embrace; but bye 
and bye she escaped to get her breath, and then 


17 


257 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

her eyes fell upon the meek form holding her 
bundles. 

“Oh, Dad,” she cried, “here’s Uncle John, 
who has come to live with us; and if you don’t 
love him as much as I do I’ll make your life 
miserable !” 

“On which account,” said the Major, grasp- 
ing the little man’s hand most cordially, “I’ll 
love Uncle John like my own brother. And 
surely,” he added, his voice falling tenderly, “my 
dear Violet’s brother must be my own. Wel- 
come, sir, now and always, to our little home. 
It’s modest, sir; but wherever Patsy is the sun is 
sure to shine.” 

“I can believe that,” said Uncle John, with a 
nod and smile. 

They boarded a car for the long ride up 
town, and as soon as they were seated Patsy de- 
manded the story of the Major’s adventures with 
his colonel, and the old fellow rattled away with 
the eagerness of a boy, telling every detail in 
the most whimsical manner, and finding some- 
thing humorous in every incident. 

“Oh, but it was grand, Patsy!” he ex- 

258 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

claimed, “and the Colonel wept on my neck when 
we parted and stained the collar of me best coat, 
and he give me a bottle of whiskey that would 
make a teetotaler roll his eyes in ecstacy. ’Twas 
the time of my life.” 

“And you're a dozen years younger, Major!” 
she cried, laughing, “and fit to dig into work 
like a pig in clover.” 

His face grew grave. 

“But how about the money, Patsy dear?* he 
asked. “Did you get nothing out of Jane Mer- 
rick’s estate?” 

“Not a nickle, Dad. ’Twas the best joke 
you ever knew. I fought with Aunt Jane like 
a pirate and it quite won her heart. When she 
died she left me all she had in the world.” 

“Look at that, now!” said the Major, won- 
deringly. 

“Which turned out to be nothing at all,” con- 
tinued Patsy. “For another will was found, 
made by Mr. Thomas Bradley, which gave the 
money to his own nephew after Aunt Jane died. 
Did you ever?” 

“Wonderful !” said the Major, with a sigh. 
259 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“So I was rich for half a day, and then poor 
as ever.” 

“It didn’t hurt you, did it?” asked the Major. 
“You weren’t vexed with disappointment, were 
you, Patsy?” 

“Not at all, Daddy.” 

“Then don’t mind it, child. Like as not the 
money would be the ruination of us all. Eh, 
sir?” appealing to Uncle John. 

“To be sure,” said the little man. “Jane left 
five thousand to me, also, which I didn’t get. 
But I’m not sorry at all.” 

“Quite right, sir,” approved the Major, sym- 
pathetically, “although it’s easier not to expect 
anything at all, than to set your heart on a thing 
and then not get it. In your case, it won’t mat- 
ter. Our house is yours, and there’s plenty and 
to spare.” 

“Thank you,” said Uncle John, his face grave 
but his eyes merry. 

“Oh, Major!” cried Patsy, suddenly. 
“There’s Danny Reeves’s restaurant. Let’s get 
off and have our dinner now; I’m as hungry as 
a bear.” 


260 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

So they stopped the car and descended, lug- 
ging all the parcels into the little restaurant, 
where they were piled into a chair while the pro- 
prietor and the waiters all gathered around Patsy 
to welcome her home. 

My, how her eyes sparkled ! She fairly 
danced for joy, and ordered the dinner with reck- 
less disregard of the bill. 

“Ah, but it’s good to be back,” said the little 
Bohemian, gleefully. “The big house at Elm- 
hurst was grand and stately, Major, but there 
wasn’t an ounce of love in the cupboard.” 

“Wasn’t I there, Patsy?” asked Uncle John, 
reproachfully. 

“True, but now you’re here; and our love, 
Uncle, has nothing to do with Elmhurst. I’ll bet 
a penny you liked it as little as I did.” 

“You’d win,” admitted the little man. 

“And now,” said the girl to the smiling wait- 
er, “a bottle of red California wine for Uncle 
John and the Major, and two real cigars. We’ll 
be merry tonight if it bankrupts the Doyle family 
entirely.” 


261 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


But, after a merry meal and a good one, 
there was no bill at all when it was called for. 

Danny Reeves himself came instead, and 
made a nice little speech, saying that Patsy had 
always brought good luck to the place, and this 
dinner was his treat to welcome her home. 

So the Major thanked him with gracious dig- 
nity and Patsy kissed Danny on his right cheek, 
and then they went away happy and content to 
find the little rooms up the second flight of the 
old tenement. 

“It’s no palace,” said Patsy, entering to 
throw down the bundles as soon as the Major 
unlocked the door, “but there’s a cricket in the 
hearth, and it’s your home, Uncle John, as well 
as ours.” 

Uncle John looked around curiously. The 
place was so plain after the comparative luxury 
of Elmhurst, and especially of the rose chamber 
Patsy had occupied, that the old man could not 
fail to marvel at the girl’s ecstatic joy to find 
herself in the old tenement again. There was 
one good sized living-room, with an ancient rag- 
carpet partially covering the floor, a sheet-iron 


262 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


stove, a sofa, a table and three or four old-fash- 
ioned chairs that had probably come from a sec- 
ond-hand dealer. 

Opening from this were two closet-like 
rooms containing each a bed and a chair, with a 
wash-basin on a bracket shelf. On the walls 
were a few colored prints from the Sunday news- 
papers and one large and fine photograph of a 
grizzled old soldier that Uncle John at once 
decided must represent “the Colonel.” 

Having noted these details,- Patsy’s uncle 
smoothed back his stubby gray hair with a re- 
flective and half puzzled gesture. 

“It’s cozy enough, my child ; and I thank you 
for my welcome,” said he. “But may I enquire 
where on earth you expect to stow me in this 
rather limited establishment?” 

“Where? Have you no eyes, then?” she 
asked, in astonishment. “It’s the finest sofa in 
the world, Uncle John, and you’ll sleep there 
like a top, with the dear Colonel’s own picture 
looking down at you to keep you safe and give 
you happy dreams. Where, indeed!” 

“Ah; I see,” said Uncle John. 

263 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“And you can wash in my chamber,” added 
the Major, with a grand air, “and hang your 
clothes on the spare hooks behind my door.” 

“I haven’t many,” said Uncle John, looking 
thoughtfully at his red bundle. 

The Major coughed and turned the lamp a 
little higher. 

“You’ll find the air fine, and the neighboh- 
hood respectable,” he said, to turn the subject. 
“Our modest apartments are cool in summer and 
warm in winter, and remarkably reasonable in 
price. Patsy gets our breakfast on the stoye yon- 
der, and we buy our lunches down town, where 
we work, and then dine at Danny Reeves’s place. 
A model home, sir, and a happy one, as I hope 
you’ll find it.” 

“I’m sure to be happy here,” said Uncle John, 
taking out his pipe. “May I smoke?” 

“Of course ; but don’t spoil the lace curtains, 
dear,” answered Patsy, mischievously. And 
then, turning to her father, she exclaimed : “Oh, 
daddy! What will the Uncle do all the day 
while we’re at work?” 


264 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“That’s as he may choose,” said the Major, 
courteously. 

“Couldn’t we get him a job?” asked Patsy, 
wistfully. “ Not where there’ll be much work, 
you know, for the Uncle is old. But just to 
keep him out of mischief, and busy. He can’t 
hang around all day and be happy, I suppose.’” 

“I’ll look around,” answered the Major, 
briskly, as if such a “job” was the easiest thing 
, in the world to procure. “And meantime — ” 

“Meantime,” said Uncle John, smiling at 
them, “I’ll look around myself.” 

“To be sure,” agreed the Major. “Between 
the two of us and Patsy, we ought to have no 
trouble at all.” 

There was a moment of thoughtful silence 
after this, and then Patsy said : 

“You know it won’t matter, Uncle John, if 
you don’t work. There’ll easy be enough for all, 
with the Major’s wages and my own.” 

“By the bye,” added the Major, “if you have 
any money about you, which is just possible, 
sir, of course, you’d better turn it over to Patsy 

265 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


to keep, and let her make you an allowance. 
That’s the way I do — it’s very satisfactory.” 

“The Major’s extravagant,” exclaimed Pat- 
sy; “and if he has money he wants to treat every 
man he meets.” 

Uncle John shook his head, reproachfully, at 
the Major. 

“A very bad habit, sir,” he said. 

“ I acknowledge it, Mr. Merrick,” responded 
the Major. “But Patsy is fast curing me. And, 
after all, it’s a wicked city to be carrying a fat 
pocketbook around in, as I’ve often observed.” 

“My pocketbook is not exactly fat,” remarked 
Uncle John. 

“But you’ve money, sir, for I marked you 
squandering it on the train,” said Patsy, severe- 
ly. “So out with it, and we’ll count up, and see 
how much of an allowance I can make you ’till 
you get the job.” 

Uncle John laughed and drew his chair up 
to the , table. Then he emptied his trousers’ 
pockets upon the cloth, and Patsy gravely sepa- 
rated the keys and jackknife from the coins and 
proceeded to count the money. 


266 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Seven dollars and forty-two cents,” she an- 
nounced. “Any more ?” 

Uncle John hesitated a moment, and then 
drew from an inner pocket of his coat a thin 
wallet. From this, when she had received it 
from his hand, the girl abstracted two ten and 
one five dollar bills, all crisp and new. 

“Good gracious !” she cried, delightedly. “All 
this wealth, and you pleading poverty?” 

“I never said I was a pauper,” returned Un- 
cle John, complacently. 

“You couldn’t, and be truthful, sir,” de- 
clared the girl. “Why, this will last for ages, 
and I’ll put it away safe and be liberal with your 
allowance. Let me see,” pushing the coins about 
with her slender fingers, “you just keep the forty- 
two cents, Uncle John. It’ll do for car-fare and 
a bit of lunch now and then, and when you get 
broke you can come to me.” 

“He smokes,” observed the Major, signifi- 
cantly. 

“Bah! a pipe,” said Patsy. “And Bull Dur- 
ham is only five cents a bag, and a bag ought to 
last a week. And every Saturday night, sir, you 

267 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


shall have a cigar after dinner, with the Major. 
It’s it our regular practice.” 

“Thank you, Patsy,” said Uncle John, meek- 
ly, and gathered up his forty-two cents. 

“You’ve now a home, and a manager, sir, 
with money in the bank of Patsy & Company, 
Limited,” announced the Major. “You ought 
to be very contented, sir.” 

“I am,” replied Uncle John. 


268 


CHAPTER XXV. 


UNCLE JOHN ACTS QUEERLY. 

When Patsy and the Major had both de- 
parted for work on Monday morning Uncle John 
boarded a car and rode downtown also. He 
might have accompanied them part of the way, 
but feared Patsey might think him extravagant 
if she found him so soon breaking into the work- 
ing fund of forty-two cents, which she charged 
him to be careful of. 

He seemed to be in no hurry, for it was early 
yet, and few of the lower Broadway establish- 
ments were open. To pass the time he turned 
into a small restaurant and had coffee and a plate 
of cakes, in spite of the fact that Patsy had so 
recently prepared coffee over the sheet-iron stove 
and brought some hot buns from a near-by bak- 
ery. He was not especially hungry; but in sip- 

269 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ping the coffee and nibbling the cakes he passed 
the best part of an hour. 

He smiled when he paid out twenty-five cents 
of his slender store for the refreshment. With 
five cents for car-fare he had now but twelve 
cents left of the forty-two Patsy had given him ! 
Talk about the Major’s extravagance: it could 
not be compared to Uncle John’s. 

Another hour was spent in looking in at the 
shop windows. Then, suddenly noting the time, 
Uncle John started down the street at a swing- 
ing pace, and presently paused before a building 
upon which was a sign, reading: “Isham, Mar- 
vin & Co., Bankers and Brokers.” A prosperous 
looking place, it seemed, with a host of clerks 
busily working in the various departments. Un- 
cle John walked in, although the uniformed offi- 
cial at the door eyed him suspiciously. 

“Mr. Marvin in?” he inquired, pleasantly. 

“Not arrived yet,” said the official, who .wore 
a big star upon his breast. 

“I’ll wait,” announced Uncle John, and sat 
down upon a leather-covered bench. 

The official strutted up and down, watching 


270 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


the customers who entered the bank or departed, 
and keeping a sharp watch on the little man upon 
the bench. 

Another hour passed. 

Presently Uncle John jumped up and ap- 
proached the official. 

“Hasn’t Mr. Marvin arrived yet?” he en- 
quired, sharply. 

“An hour ago,” was the reply. 

“Then why didn’t you let me know? I want 
to see him.” 

“He’s busy mornings. Has to look over the 
mail. He can’t see you yet.” 

“Well, he will see me, and right away. Tell 
him John Merrick is here.” 

“Your card, sir.” 

“I haven’t any. My name will do.” 

The official hesitated, and glanced at the lit- 
tle man’s seedy garb and countryfied air. But 
something in the angry glance of the shrewd eye 
made him fear he had made a mistake. He 
opened a small door and disappeared. 

In a moment the door burst open to allow 
egress to a big, red-bearded man in his shirt- 


271 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


sleeves, who glanced around briefly and then 
rushed at Uncle John and shook both his hands 
cordially. 

“My dear Mr. Merrick!” he exclaimed, “I'm 
delighted and honored to see you here. Come 
to my room at once. A great surprise and pleas- 
ure, sir! Thomas, I’m engaged!” 

This last was directed at the head of the 
amazed porter, who, as the door slammed in his 
face, nodded solemnly and remarked : 

“Fooled ag’in, and I might ’a’ known it. 
Drat these ’ere billionaires! Why don’t they 
dress like decent people?” 

Uncle John had been advised by Patsy where 
to go for a good cheap luncheon; but he did not 
heed her admonition. Instead, he rode in a car- 
riage beside the banker to a splendid club, where 
he was served with the finest dishes the chef 
could provide on short notice. Moreover, Mr. 
Marvin introduced him to several substantial 
gentlemen as “Mr. John Merrick, of Portland” ; 
and each one bowed profoundly and declared he 
was “highly honored.” 

Yet Uncle John seemed in no way elated by 


272 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


this reception. He retained his simple manner, 
although his face was more grave than Patsy 
had often seen it; and he talked with easy famil- 
iarity of preferred stocks and amalgamated in- 
terests and invested securities and many other 
queer things that the banker seemed to under- 
stand fully and to listen to with respectful def- 
erence. 

Then they returned to the bank for another 
long session together, and there was quite an 
eager bustle among the clerks as they stretched 
their necks to get a glimpse of Mr. Marvin’s 
companion. 

“It’s John Merrick” passed from mouth to 
mouth, and the uniformed official strutted from 
one window to another, saying: 

“I showed him in myself. And he came in- 
to the bank as quiet like as anyone else would.” 

But he didn’t go away quietly, you may be 
sure. Mr. Marvin and Mr. Isham both escorted 
their famous client to the door, where the Mar- 
vin carriage had been ordered to be in readiness 
for Mr. Merrick’s service. 

But JJncle John waived it aside disdainfully. 

273 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“I’ll walk,” he said. “There are some other 
errands to attend to.” 

So they shook his hand and reminded him 
of a future appointment and let him go his way. 
In a moment the great Broadway crowd had 
swallowed up John Merrick, and five minutes 
later he was thoughtfully gazing into a shop 
window again. 

By and bye he bethought himself of the time, 
and took a cab uptown. He had more than the 
twelve cents in his pocket, now, besides the 
check book which was carefully hidden away in 
an inside pocket; so the cost of the cab did not 
worry him. He dismissed the vehicle near an 
uptown corner and started to walk hastily to- 
ward Danny Reeves’s restaurant, a block away, 
Patsy was standing in the doorway, anxiously 
watching for him. 

“Oh, Uncle John,” she cried, as he strolled 
up, “I’ve been really worried about you; it’s 
such a big city, and you a stranger. Do you 
know you’re ten minutes late?” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, humbly; “but it’s a long 
way here from downtown.” 


274 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Didn’t you take a car?” 

“No, my dear.” 

“Why, you fooolish old Uncle! Come in at 
once. The Major has been terribly excited over 
you, and swore you should not be allowed to 
wander through the streets without someone to 
look after you. But what could we do ?” 

“I’m all right,” declared Uncle John, cordi- 
ally shaking hands with Patsy’s father. “Have 
you had a good day?” 

“Fine,” said the Major. “They’d missed me 
at the office, and were glad to have me back. 
And what do you think? I’ve got a raise.” 

“Really?” said Uncle John, seeing it was 
expected of him. 

“For a fact. It’s Patsy’s doing, I’ve no 
doubt. She wheedled the firm into giving me a 
vacation, and now they’re to pay me twelve a 
week instead of ten.” 

“Is that enough?” asked Uncle John, doubt- 
fully. • 

“More than enough, sir. I’m getting old, 
and can’t earn as much as a yonuger man. But 


275 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

I’m pretty tough, and mean to hold onto that 
twelve a week as long as possible.” 

“What pay do you get, Patsy?” asked Uncle 
John. 

“Almost as much as Daddy. We’re dread- 
fully rich, Uncle John; so you needn’t worry if 
you don’t strike a job yourself all at once.” 

“Any luck today, sir,” asked the Major, 
tucking a napkin under his chin and beginning 
on the soup. 

Uncle John shook his head. 

“Of course not,” said Patsy, quickly. “It’s 
too early, as yet. Don’t hurry, Uncle John. 
Except that it’ll keep you busy, there’s no need 
for you to work at all.” 

“You’re older than I am,” suggested the 
Major, “and that makes it harder to break in. 
But there’s no hurry, as Patsy says.” 

Uncle John did not seem to be worrying over 
his idleness. He kept on questioning his brother- 
in-law and his niece about their labors, and after- 
ward related to them the sights he had seen in 
the shop windows. Of course he could not eat 
much after the feast he had had at luncheon, and 

276 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


this disturbed Patsy a little. She insisted he 
was tired, and carried her men away to the tene- 
ment rooms as soon as possible, where she in- 
stalled them at the table to play cribbage until 
bed-time. 

The next day Uncle John seemed to be busy 
enough, although of course Patsy could not 
know what he was doing. He visited a real- 
estate office, for one thing, and then telephoned 
Isham, Marvin & Co. and issued a string of 
orders in a voice not nearly so meek and mild 
as it was when he was in Patsy’s presence. What- 
ever he had undertaken required time, for all 
during the week he left the tenement directly 
the Major and his daughter had gone to the 
city, and bustled about until it was time to meet 
them for dinner at the restaurant. But he was 
happy and in good spirits and enjoyed his even- 
ing game of cribbage with the Major exceed- 
ingly. 

“You must be nearly bankrupt, by this time,” 
said Patsy on Tuesday evening. 

“It’s an expensive city to live in,” sighed 
Uncle John. 


277 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

She gave him fifty cents of his money, then, 
and on Friday fifty cents more. 

“After a time,” she said, “you’ll manage to 
get along with less. It’s always harder to econo- 
mize at first.” 

“How about the bills?” he inquired. “Don’t 
I pay my share of them?” 

“Your expenses are nothing at all,” declared 
the Major, with a wave of his hand. 

“But my dinners at Danny Reeves’ place 
must cost a lot,” protested Uncle John. 

“Surely not; Patsy has managed all that for 
a trifle, and the pleasure of your company more 
than repays us for the bit of expense.” 

On Saturday night there was a pint of red 
wine for the two men, and then the weekly 
cigars were brought — very inexpensive ones, to 
be sure. The first whiff he took made Uncle 
John cough; but the Major smoked so grace- 
fully and with such evident pleasure that his 
brother-in-law clung manfully to the cigar, and 
succeeded in consuming it to the end. 

“Tomorrow is the day of rest,” announced 

278 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Patsy, “ so we’ll all go for a nice walk in the 
narks after breakfast.” 

“And we sleep ’till eight o’clock, don’t we, 
Patsy?” asked the Major. 

“Of course.” 

“And the eggs for breakfast?” 

“I’ve bought them already, three for a nickle. 
You don’t care for more than one, do you, Uncle 
John?” 

“No, my dear.” 

“It’s our Sunday morning extra — an egg 
apiece. The Major is so fond of them.” 

“And so am I, Patsy.” 

“And now we’ll have our cribbage and get 
to bed early. Heigho! but Sunday’s a great 
day for folks that work.” 


279 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


A BUNCH OF KEYS. 

Uncle John did not sleep well. Perhaps he 
had a guilty conscience. Anyway, he tossed 
about a good deal on the sofa-bed in the living- 
room, and wore himself out to such an extent 
that when Patsy got up at eight o’clock her uncle 
had fallen into his first sound sleep. 

She never disturbed him until she had made 
the fire and cooked the coffee and boiled the 
three white eggs. By this time the Major was 
dressed and shaved, and he aroused Uncle John 
and bade him hurry into the closet and make his 
toilet, “so that Patsy could put the house to 
rights. ” 

Uncle John obeyed eagerly, and was ready 
as soon as the Major had brought the smoking 
rolls from the bakery. Ah, but it was a merry 

280 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

breakfast; and a delicious one into the bargain. 
Uncle John seemed hungry, and looked at the 
empty egg-shells regretfully. 

“Next time, Patsy,” he said, “you must buy 
six eggs.” 

“Look at his recklessness !” cried Patsy, 
laughing. “You’re just as bad as the Major, 
every bit. If you men hadn’t me for a guardian 
you’d be in the poorhouse in a month.” 

“But we have you, my dear,” said Uncle 
John, smiling into her dancing eyes; “so we 
won’t complain at one egg instead of two.” 

Just then someone pounded on the door, and 
the girl ran to open it. There was a messenger 
boy outside, looking smart and neat in his blue- 
and-gold uniform, and he touched his cap polite- 
ly to the girl. 

“Miss Patricia Doyle?” 

“That’s me.” 

“A parcel for you. Sign here, please.” 

Patsy signed, bothering her head the while 
to know what the little package contained and 
who could have sent if. Then the boy was gone, 


281 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


and she came back slowly to the breakfast table, 
with the thing in her hand. 

“What is it, Patsy?” asked the Major, curi- 
ously. 

“I’m dying to know, myself,” said the girl. 

Uncle John finished his coffee, looking un- 
concerned. 

“A good way is to open it,” remarked the 
Major. 

It was a very neat package, wrapped in fine 
paper and sealed with red wax. Patsy turned it 
over once or twice, and then broke the wax and 
untied the cord. 

A bunch of keys fell out first — seven of them, 
strung on a purple ribbon — and then a flat, im- 
pressive looking letter was discovered. 

The Major stared open-mouthed. Uncle 
John leaned back in his chair and watched the 
girl’s face. 

“There’s a mistake,” said Patsy, quite be- 
wildered. Then she read her name upon the 
wrapper, quite plainly written, and shook her 
head. “It’s for me, all right. But what does 
it mean?” 


282 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Why not read the letter?” suggested the 
Major. 

So she opened the big envelope and unfolded 
the stiff paper and read as follows: 

“Miss Patricia Doyle, Becker’s Flats, Dug- 
gan Street, New York. Dear Miss Doyle: An 
esteemed client of our house, who desires to re- 
main unknown, has placed at your disposal the 
furnished apartments “D,” at 3708 Willing 
Square, for the period of three years, or as long 
thereafter as you may care to retain them. Our 
client begs you to consider everything the apart- 
ments contain as your own, and to use it freely 
as it may please you. All rentals and rates are 
paid in advance, and you are expected to take 
possession at once. Moreover, our firm is com- 
manded to serve you in any and every way you 
may require, and it will be our greatest pleasure 
to be of use to you. The keys to the apartments 
are enclosed herewith. 

“Most respectfully, 

“Isham, Marvin & Co.” 

Having read this to the end, in a weak voice 
and with many pauses, Miss Patricia Doyle 

283 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


sat down in her chair with strange abruptness 
and stared blankly at her father. The Major 
stared back. So did Uncle John, when her eyes 
roved toward his face. 

Patricia turned the keys over, and jingled 
them. Then she referred to the letter again. 

“ Apartments D, at 3708 Willing Square. 
Where’s that?” 

The Major shook his head. So did Uncle 
John. 

“Might look in a directory” suggested the 
latter, uncertainly. 

“Of course,” added the Major. 

“But what does it all mean?” demanded 
Patsy, with sudden fierceness. “Is it a joke? 
Isham, Marvin & Co., the great bankers! What 
do I know of them, or they of me ?” 

“That isn’t the point,” observed the Major, 
reflectively. “Who’s their unknown and mys- 
terious client? That’s the question.” 

“To be sure,” said Uncle John. “They’re 
only the agents. You must have a fairy god- 
mother, Patsy.” 

She laughed at the idea, and shook her head. 

284 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“They don’t exist in these days, Uncle John. 
But the whole thing must be a joke, and nothing 
more.” 

“We’ll discover that,” asserted the Major, 
shrewdly scrutinizing the letter, which he had 
taken from Patsy’s hands. “It surely looks 
genuine enough, on the face of it. I’ve seen the 
bank letter-head before, and this is no forgery, 
you can take my word. Get your things on, 
Patsy. Instead of walking in the park we’ll 
hunt up Willing Square, and we’ll take the keys 
with us.” 

“A very good idea,” said Uncle John. “I’d 
like to go with you, if I may.” 

“Of course you may,” answered the girl. 
“You’re one of the family now, Uncle John, and 
you must help us to unravel the mystery.” 

The Major took off his carpet slippers and 
pulled on his boots, while Patricia was getting 
ready for the walk. Uncle John wandered 
around the room aimlessly for a time, and then 
took off his black tie and put on the white one. 

Patsy noticed this, when she came out of 
her closet, and laughed merrily. 

285 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“You mustn’t be getting excitied, Uncle John, 
until we see how this wonderful adventure turns 
out,” she said. “But I really must wash and 
iron that necktie for you, if you’re going to wear 
it on Sundays.” 

“Not a bad idea,” said the Major. “But 
come, are we all ready?” 

They walked down the rickety steps very 
gravely and sedately, Patsy jingling the keys as 
they went, and made their way to the corner drug 
store, where the Major searched in the directory 
for Willing Square. 

To his surprise it proved to be only a few 
blocks away. 

“But it’s in the dead swell neighborhood,” 
he explained, “where I have no occasion to visit. 
We can walk it in five minutes.” 

Patsy hesitated. 

“Really, it’s no use going, Dad,” she pro- 
tested. “It isn’t in reason that I’d have a place 
presented me in a dead swell neighborhood. 
Now, is it?” 

“We’ll have to go, just the same,” said Uncle 


286 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


John. “I couldn’t sleep a wink tonight it we 
didn’t find out what this all means.” 

“True enough,” agreed the Major. “Come 
along, Patsy ; it’s this way.” 

Willing Square was not very big, but it was 
beautiful with flowers and well tended and 
3807 proved to be a handsome building with a 
white marble front, situated directly on a corner. 
The Major examined it critically from the side- 
walk, and decided it contained six suits of apart- 
ments, three on each side. 

“D must be the second floor to the right,” 
he said, “and that’s a fine location, sure enough.” 

A porter appeared at the front door, which 
stood open, and examined the group upon the 
sidewalk with evident curiosity. 

Patsy walked up to him, and ignoring the 
big gold figures over the entrance she enquired : 

“Is this 3807 Willing Square?” 

“Yes, Miss,” answered the porter; “are you 
Miss Doyle?” 

“I am,” she answered, surprised. 

“One flight up, Miss, and turn to the right,” 
he continued, promptly ; and then he winked over 

287 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 

the girl's head at Uncle John, who frowned so 
terribly that the man drew aside and disappeared 
abruptly. The Major and Patsy were staring at 
one another, however, and did not see this by- 
play. 

“Let’s go up," said the Major, in a husky 
voice, and proceeded to mount the stairs. 

Patsy followed close behind, and then came 
Uncle John. One flight up they paused at a 
door marked “D", upon the panel of which was 
a rack bearing a card printed with the word 
“Doyle." 

“Well, well!" gasped the Major. “Who’d 
have thought it, at all at all!" 

Patsy, with trembling fingers, put a key in 
the lock, and after one or two efforts opened the 
door. 

The sun was shining brilliantly into a tiny 
reception hall, furnished most luxuriously. 

The Major placed his hat on the rack, and 
Uncle John followed suit. 

No one spoke a word as they marched in 
humble procession into the living-room, their feet 
pressing without sound into the thick rugs. 


288 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Eveything here was fresh and new, but selected 
with excellent taste and careful attention to de- 
tail. Not a thing was lacking, from the pretty 
upright piano to the enameled clock ticking upon 
the mantel. The dining-room was a picture, in- 
deed, with stained-glass windows casting their 
soft lights through the draperies and the side- 
board shining with silver and glass. There was 
a cellarette in one corner, the Major noticed, and 
it was well stocked. 

Beyond was a pantry with well filled shelves 
and then the kitchen — this last filled with every 
article that could possibly be needed. In a store- 
room were enough provisions to stock a grocery- 
store and Patsy noted with amazement that there 
was ice in the refrigerator, with cream and milk 
and butter cooling beside it. 

They felt now as if they were intruding in 
some fairy domain. It was all exquisite, though 
rather tiny; but such luxury was as far removed 
from the dingy rooms they had occupied as could 
well be imagined. The Major coughed and 
ahemmed continually; Patsy ah’d and oh’d and 
seemed half frightened ; Uncle John walked after 

289 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


them silently, but with a pleased smile that was 
almost childish upon his round and rugged face. 

Across the hall were three chambers, each 
with a separate bath, while one had a pretty 
dressing-room added. 

“This will be Patsy’s room,” said the Major, 
with a vast amount of dignity. 

“Of course,” said Uncle John. “The pins 
on the cushion spell 'Patricia,’ don’t they?” 

“So they do!” cried Patsy, greatly delighted. 

“And this room,” continued the Major, 
passing into the next, “will be mine. There are 
fine battle-scenes on the wall; and I declare, 
there’s just the place for the colonel’s photo- 
graph over the dresser!” 

“Cigars, too,” said Patsy, opening a little 
cabinet; “but ’twill be a shame to smoke in this 
palace.” 

“Then I won’t live here!” declared the Ma- 
jor, stoutly, but no one heeded him. 

“Here is Uncle John’s room,” exclaimed the 
girl, entering the third chamber. 

“Mine?” enquired Uncle John in mild sur- 
prise. 


290 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Sure, sir; you’re one of the family, and I’m 
glad it’s as good as the Major’s, every bit.” 

Uncle John’s eyes twinkled. 

“I hope the bed is soft,” he remarked, press- 
ing it critically. 

“It’s as good as the old sofa, any day,” said 
Patsy, indignantly. 

Just then a bell tinkled, and after looking at 
one another in silent consternation for a moment, 
the Major tiptoed stealthily to the front door, fol- 
lowed by the others. 

“What’ll we do?” asked Patsy, in distress. 

“Better open it,” suggested Uncle John, 
calmly. « 

The Major did so, and there was a little maid 
bowing and smiling outside. She entered at 
once, closing the door behind her, and bowed 
again. 

“This is my new mistress, I suppose,” she 
said, looking at Patsy. “I am your servant, Miss 
Patricia.” 

Patsy gasped and stared at her. The maid 
was not much older than she was, but she looked 
pleasant and intelligent and in keeping with the 


291 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

rooms. She wore a gray dress with white col- 
lar and white apron and cap, and seemed so 
dainty and sweet that the Major and Uncle John 
approved her at once. 

Patsy sat down, from sheer lack of strength 
to stand up. 

“Who hired you, then?” she asked. 

“A gentleman from the bank,” was the re- 
ply. “I’m Mary, if you please, Miss. And my 
wages are all arranged for in advance, so there 
will be nothing for you to pay,” said the little 
maid. 

“Can you cook?” asked Patsy, curiously. 

“Yes, Miss,” with a smile. “The dinner will 
be ready at one o’clock.” 

“Oh; you’ve been here before, then?” 

“Two days, Miss, getting ready for you.” 

“And where will you sleep?” 

“I’ve a little room beyond the kitchen. 
Didn’t you see it, Miss Patricia?” 

“No, Mary.” 

“Anything more at present, Miss Patricia?” 

“No, Mary.” 

The maid bowed again, and disappeared to- 
292 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


ward the kitchen, leaving an awe-struck group 
behind her. 

The Major whistled softly. Uncle John 
seemed quite unconcerned. Patsy took out her 
handkerchief. The tears would come in spite of 
her efforts. 

“I — I — I’m going to have a good cry,” she 
sobbed, and rushed into the living-room to throw 
herself flat upon the divan. 

“It’s all right,” said the Major, answering 
Uncle John’s startled look; “the cry will do her 
good. I’ve half a mind to join her myself.” 

But he didn’t. He followed Uncle John into 
the latter’s room and smoked one of the newly- 
discovered cigars while the elder man lay back 
in an easy chair and silently puffed his pipe. 

By and bye Patsy joined them, no longer 
crying but radiant with glee. 

“Tell me, Daddy,” said she, perching on the 
arm of the Major’s chair, “who gave me all this, 
do you think?” 

“Not me,” answered the Major, positively. 
“I couldn’t do it on twelve a week, anyhow at 
all.” 


293 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“And you robbed me of all my money when 
I came to town,” said Uncle John. 

“Stop joking,” said the girl. “There’s no 
doubt this place is intended for us, is there ?” 

“None at all,” declared the Major. “It’s 
ours for three years, and not a penny to pay.” 

“Well, then, do you think it’s Kenneth?” 

The Major shook his head. 

“I don’t know the lad,” he said, “ and he 
might be equal to it, although I doubt it. But he 
can’t touch his money till he comes of age, and 
it isn’t likely his lawyer guardian would allow 
such extravagances.” 

“Then who can it be?” 

“I can’t imagine.” 

“It doesn’t seem to matter,” remarked Uncle 
John, lighting a fresh pipe. “You’re not sup- 
posed to ask questions, I take it, but to enjoy 
your new home as much as you can.” 

“Ex — actly!” agreed the Major. 

“I’ve been thinking,” continued Uncle John, 
“that I’m not exactly fit for all this style, Patsy. 
I’ll have to get a new suit of clothes to match 


294 


AUNT JANE'S NIECES. 


my new quarters. Will you give me back ten 
dollars of that money to buy ’em with?” 

I suppose I’ll have to,” she answered, 
thoughtfully. 

“We’ll have to go back to Becker’s flats to 
pack up our traps,” said the Major, “so we might 
as well go now.” 

“I hate to leave here for a single moment,” 
replied the girl. 

“Why?” 

“I’m afraid it will all disappear again.” 

“Nonsense!” said Uncle John. “For my part, 
I haven’t any traps, so I’ll stay here and guard 
the treasure till you return.” 

“Dinner is served, Miss Patricia,” said the 
small maid, appearing in the doorway. 

“Then let’s dine!” cried Patsy, clapping her 
hands gleefully; “and afterward the Major and 
I will make our last visit to Becker’s flats.” 


295 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


LOUISE MAKES A DISCOVERY. 

Uncle John did not stay to guard the treas- 
ure, after all, for he knew very well it would not 
disappear. 

As soon as Patsy and the Major had departed 
for Becker’s flats, he took his own hat from the 
rack and walked away to hunt up another niece, 
Miss Louise Merrick, whose address he had 
casually obtained from Patsy a day or two be- 
fore. 

It was near by, and he soon found the place — 
a pretty flat in a fashionable building, although 
not so exclusive a residence district as Willing 
Square. 

Up three flights he rode in the elevator, and 
then rang softly at the door which bore the card 
.of Mrs. Merrick. 


296 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

A maid opened it and looked* at him enquir- 
ingly. 

“Are the ladies in?” he asked. 

“I’ll see. Your card, sir?” 

“I haven’t any.” 

She half closed the door. 

“Any name, then?” 

“Yes, John Merrick.” 

She closed the door entirely, and was gone 
several minutets. Then she came back and ush- 
ered him through the parlor into a small rear 
room. 

Mrs. Merrick arose from her chair by the 
window and advanced to meet him. 

“You are John Merrick?” she enquired. 

“Your husband’s brother, ma’am,” he re- 
plied. 

“How do you do, Uncle John?” called Louise, 
from the sofa. “Excuse my getting up, won’t 
you? And where in the world have you come 
from?” 

Mrs. Merrick sat down again. 

“Won’t you take a chair?” she said, stiffly. 


297 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“I believe I will,” returned Uncle John. “1 
just came to make a call, you know.” 

“Louise has told me of you,” said the lady. 
“It was very unfortunate that your sister’s death 
deprived you of a home. An absurd thing, al- 
together, that fiasco of Jane Merrick’s.” 

“True,” he agreed. 

“But I might have expected it, knowing the 
woman’s character as I did.” 

Uncle John wondered what Jane’s character 
had to do with the finding of Tom Bradley’s last 
will; but he said nothing. 

“Where are you living?” asked Louise. 

“Not anywhere, exactly,” he answered, “al- 
though Patsy has offered me a home and I’ve 
been sleeping on a sofa in her living-room, the 
past week.” 

“I advise you to stay with the Doyles,” said 
Mrs. Merrick, quickly. “We haven’t even a sofa 
to offer you here, our flat is so small; otherwise 
we would be glad to be of some help to you. 
Have you found work?” 

“I haven’t tried to, yet, ma’am.” 

“It will be hard to get, at your age, of course. 

298 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

But that is a matter in which we cannot assist 
you.” 

“Oh, I’m not looking for help, ma’am.” 

She glanced at his worn clothing and soiled 
white necktie, and smiled. 

“But we want to do something for you,” 
said Louise. “Now,” sitting up and regarding 
him gravely, “I’m going to tell you a state se- 
cret. We are living, in this luxurious way, on 
the principal of my father’s life insurance. At 
our present rate of expenditure we figure that the 
money will last us two years and nine months 
longer. By that time I shall be comfortably 
married or we will go bankrupt — as the fates de- 
cide. Do you understand the situation?” 

“Perfectly. It’s very simple,” said the old 
man. 

“And rather uncertain, isn’t it? But in spite 
of this, we are better able to help you than any 
of your other relatives. The Doyles are hard- 
working folks, and very poor. Beth says that 
Professor De Graf is over head and ears in debt 
and earns less every year, so he can’t be counted 
upon. In all the Merrick tribe the only tangible 


299 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

thing is my father’s life insurance, which I be- 
lieve you once helped him to pay a premium on.” 

“I’d forgotten that,” said Uncle John. 

“Well, we haven’t. We don’t want to appear 
ungenerous in your eyes. Some day we may 
need help ourselves. But just now we can’t 
offer you a home, and, as mother says, you’d bet- 
ter stay with the Doyles. We have talked ot 
making you a small allowance ; but that may not 
be necessary. When you need assistance you 
must come to us, and we’ll do whatever we can, 
as long as our money lasts. Won’t- that be the 
better way?” 

Uncle John was silent for a moment. Then 
he asked : 

“Why have you thought it necessary to as- 
sist me?” 

Louise seemed surprised. 

“You are old and seemed to be without 
means,” she answered, “and that five thousand 
Aunt Jane left to you turned out to be a myth. 
But tell me, have you money, Uncle John?” 

“Enough for my present needs,” he said, 
smiling. 


300 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Mrs. Merrick seemed greatly relieved. 

‘‘Then there is no need of our trying to be 
generous,” she said, “and I am glad of that on 
all accounts.” 

“I just called for a little visit,” said Uncle 
John. “It seemed unfriendly not to hunt you 
up, when I was in town.” 

“I’m glad you did,” replied Mrs. Merrick, 
glancing at the clock. “But Louise expects a 
young gentleman to call upon her in a few min- 
utes, and perhaps you can drop in again ; another 
Sunday, for instance.” 

“Perhaps so,” said Uncle John, rising with 
a red face. “I’ll see.” 

“Good bye, Uncle,” exclaimed Louise, rising 
to take his hand. “Don’t feel that we’ve hurried 
you away, but come in again, whenever you feel 
like it.” 

“Thank you, my dear,” he said, and went 
away. 

Louise approached the open window, that led 
to a broad balcony. The people in the next flat 
— young Mr. Isham, the son of the great banker, 
and his wife — were sitting on the balcony, over- 


301 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

looking the street, but Louise decided to glance 
over the rail to discover if the young gentleman 
she so eagerly awaited chanced to be in sight. 

As she did so Mr. Isham cried in great ex- 
citement : 

“There he is, Myra — that’s him !” and pointed 
toward the sidewalk. 

“Whom?” enquired Mrs. Isham, calmly. 

“Why John Merrick! John Merrick, of 
Portland, Oregon.” 

“And who is John Merrick?” asked the lady. 

“One of the richest men in the world, and the 
best client our house has. Isn’t he a queer look- 
ing fellow? And dresses like a tramp. But he’s 
worth from eighty to ninety millions, at least, 
and controls most of the canning and tin-plate 
industries of America. I wonder what brought 
him into this neighborhood?” 

Louise drew back from the window, pale and 
trembling. Then she caught up a shawl and 
rushed from the room. Uncle John must be 
overtaken and brought back, at all hazards. 

The elevator was coming down, fortunately, 
and she descended quickly, and reached the 


302 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


street, where she peered eagerly up and down for 
the round, plump figure of the little millionaire. 
But by some strange chance he had already 
turned a corner and disappeared. 

While she hesitated the young man came 
briskly up, swinging his cane. 

“Why, Miss Louise,” he said in some sur- 
prise, “were you, by good chance, waiting for 
me?” 

“No, indeed,” she answered, with a laugh; 
“I’ve been saying good-bye to my rich uncle, 
John Merrick, of Portland, who has just called.” 

“John Merrick, the tin-plate magnate? Is 
he your uncle?” 

“My father’s own brother,” she answered, 
gaily. “Come upstairs, please. Mother will be 
glad to see. you!” 


303 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


PATSY LOSES HER JOB. 

Uncle John reached Willing Square before 
Patsy and her father returned, but soon afterward 
they arrived in an antiquated carriage surrounded 
by innumerable bundles. 

“The driver’s a friend of mine,” explained 
the Major, “and he moved us for fifty cents, 
which is less than half price. We didn’t bring 
a bit of the furniture or beds, for there’s no place 
here to put them ; but as the rent at Becker’s flat 
is paid to the first of next month, we’ll have 
plenty of time to auction ’em all off.” 

The rest of the day was spent most delight- 
fully in establishing themselves in the new home. 
It didn’t take the girl long to put her few be- 
longings into the closets and drawers, but there 
were a thousand little things to examine in the 


304 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

rooms, and she made some important discovery 
at every turn. 

“Daddy,” she said, impressively, “it must 
have cost a big fortune to furnish these little 
rooms. They’re full of very expensive things, 
and none of the grand houses Madam Borne 
has sent me to is any finer than ours. I’m sure 
the place is too good for us, who are working 
people. Do you think we ought to stay here ?” 

“The Doyles,” answered the Major, very 
seriously, “are one of the greatest and most aris- 
tocratic families in all Ireland, which is the most 
aristocratic country in the world. If I only had 
our pedigree I could prove it to you easily. 
There’s nothing too good for an Irish gentleman, 
even if he condescends to bookkeeping to supply 
the immediate necessities of life; and as you’re 
me own daughter, Patricia, though a Merrick 
on your poor sainted mother’s side, you’re en- 
titled to all you can get honestly. Am I right, 
Uncle John, or do I flatter myself?” 

Uncle John stroked the girl’s head softly. 

“You are quite right,” he said. “There is 


305 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


nothing too good for a brave, honest girl who’s 
heart is in the right place.” 

“And that’s Patsy,” declared the Major, as 
if the question were finally settled. 

On Monday morning Mary had a dainty 
breakfast all ready for them at seven o’clock, and 
Patsy and her father departed with light hearts 
for their work. Uncle John rode part way down 
town with them. 

“I’m going to buy my new suit, today, and a 
new necktie,” he said. 

“Don’t let them rob you,” was Patsy’s part- 
ing injunction. “Is your money all safe? And 
if you buy a ten dollar suit of clothes the dealer 
ought to throw in the necktie to bind the bar- 
gain. And see that they’re all wool, Uncle 
John.” 

“What, the neckties?” 

“No, the clothes. Good-bye, and don’t be 
late to dinner. Mary might scold.” 

“I’ll remember. Good-bye, my dear.” 

Patsy was almost singing for joy when she 
walked into Madam Borne’s hair-dressing es- 
tablishment. 


306 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


‘Don’t take off your things,” said the 
Madam, sharply. “You’re services are no longer 
required.” 

Patsy looked at her in amazement. Doubt- 
less she hadn’t heard aright. 

“I have another girl in your place,” -contin- 
ued Madam Borne, “so I’ll bid you good morn- 
ing.” 

Patsy’s heart was beating fast. 

“Do you mean I’m discharged?” she asked, 
with a catch in her voice. 

“That’s it precisely.” 

“Have I done anything wrong, Madam?” 

“It isn’t that,” said Madam, pettishly. “I 
simply do not require your services. You are 
paid up to Saturday night, and I owe you noth- 
ing. Now, run along.” 

Patsy stood looking at her and wondering 
what to do. To lose this place was certainly a 
great calamity. 

“You’ll give me a testimonial, won’t you, 
Madam?” she asked, falteringly. 

“I don’t give testimonials,” was the reply. 


307 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

“Do run away, child; I’m very busy this morn- 
ing.” 

Patsy went away, all her happiness turned to 
bitter grief. What would the Major say, and 
what were they to do without her wages ? Then 
she remembered Willing Square, and was a lit- 
tle comforted. Money was not as necessary now 
as it had been before. 

Nevertheless, she applied to one or two hair- 
dressers for employment, and met with abrupt 
refusals. They had all the help they needed. So 
she decided to go back home and think it over, 
before taking further action. 

It was nearly ten o’clock when she fitted her 
pass-key into the carved door of Apartment D, 
and when she entered the pretty living-room she 
found an elderly lady seated there, who arose to 
greet her. 

“Miss Doyle?” enquired the lady. 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Patsy. 

“I am Mrs. Wilson, and I have been engaged 
to give you private instruction from ten to 
twelve every morning.” 


308 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Patsy plumped down upon a chair and looked 
her amazement. 

“May I ask who engaged you?” she ven- 
tured to enquire. 

“A gentleman from the bank of Isham, Mar- 
vin & Co. made the arrangement. May I take 
off my things?” 

“If you please,” said the girl, quietly. . Evi- 
dently this explained why Madam Borne had dis- 
charged her so heartlessly. The gentleman from 
Isham, Marvin & Co. had doubtless interviewed 
the Madam and told her what to do. And then, 
knowing she would be at liberty, he had sent her 
this private instructor. 

The girl felt that the conduct of her life had 
been taken out of her own hands entirely, and 
that she was now being guided and cared for by 
her unknown friend and benefactor. And al- 
though she was inclined to resent the loss of her 
independence, at first, her judgment told her it 
would not only be wise but to her great ad- 
vantage to submit. 

She found Mrs. Wilson a charming and cul- 
tivated lady, who proved so gracious and kindly 

309 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


that the girl felt quite at ease in her presence. 
She soon discovered how woefully ignorant 
Patsy was, and arranged a course of instruction 
that would be of most benefit to her. 

“1 have been asked to prepare you to enter a 
girls’ college,” she said, “and if you are attentive 
and studious I shall easily accomplish the task.” 

Patsy invited her to stay to luncheon, which 
Mary served in the cosy dining-room, and then 
Mrs. Wilson departed and left her alone to think 
over this new example of her unknown friend’s 
thoughtful care. 

At three o’clock the door-bell rang and Mary 
ushered in another strange person — a pretty, 
fair-haired young lady, this time, who said she 
was to give Miss Doyle lessons on the piano. 

Patsy was delighted. It was the one accom- 
plishment she most longed to acquire, and she 
entered into the first lesson with an eagerness 
that made her teacher smile approvingly. 

Meantime the Major was having his own 
surprises. At the office the manager met him on 
his arrival and called him into his private room. 

“Major Doyle,” said he, “it is with great 


3 T0 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


regret that we part with you, for you have 
served our house most faithfully.” 

The Major was nonplussed. 

“But,” continued the manager, “our bankers, 
Messers. Isham, Marvin & Co., have asked us to 
spare you for them, as they have a place requir- 
ing a man of your abilities where you can do 
much better than with us. Take this card, sir, 
and step over to the bankers and enquire for Mr. 
Marvin. I congratulate you, Major Doyle, on 
your advancement, which I admit is fully de- 
served.” 

The Major semed dazed. Like a man walk- 
ing in a dream he made his way to the great 
banking house, and sent in the card to Mr. Mar- 
vin. 

That gentleman greeted him most cordially. 

“We want you to act as special auditor of ac- 
counts,” said he. “It is a place of much re- 
sponsibility, but your duties will not be arduous. 
You will occupy Private Office No. n, and your 
hours are only from io to 12 each morning. 
After that you will be at liberty. The salary, I 
regret to say, is not commensurate with your 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

value, being merely twenty-four hundred a year; 
but as you will have part of the day to yourself 
you will doubtless be able to supplement that 
sum in other ways. Is this satisfactory, sir?” 

“Quite so,” answered the Major. Twenty- 
four hundred a year! And only two hours’ 
work! Quite satisfactory, indeed! 

His little office was very cosy, too; and the 
work of auditing the accounts of the most im- 
portant customers of the house required accuracy 
but no amount of labor. It was an ideal occu- 
pation for a man of his years and limited train- 
ing. 

He stayed in the office until two o’clock that 
day, in order to get fully acquainted with the de- 
tails of his work. Then he closed his desk, went 
to luncheon, which he enjoyed amazingly, and 
then decided to return to Willing Square and 
await Patsy’s return from Madam Borne’s. 

As he let himself in he heard an awkward 
drumming and strumming on the piano, and 
peering slyly through the opening in the por- 
tierre he was startled to find Patsy herself mak- 
ing the dreadful noise, while a pretty girl sat be- 

3 12 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


side her directing the movements of her fingers. 

The Major watched for several minutes, in 
silent but amazed exultation; then he tip-toed 
softly to his room to smoke a cigar and wait un- 
til his daughter was at liberty to hear his great 
news and explain her own adventures. 

When Uncle John came home to dinner he 
found father and daughter seated happily to- 
gether in a loving embrace, their faces wreathed 
with ecstatic smiles that were wonderful to be- 
hold. 

Uncle John was radiant in a brand new pep- 
per-and-salt suit of clothes that fitted his little 
round form perfectly. Patsy marvelled that he 
could get such a handsome outfit for the money, 
for Uncle John had on new linen and a new hat 
and even a red-bordered handkerchief for the 
coat pocket — besides the necktie, and the necktie 
was of fine silk and in the latest fashion. 

The transformation was complete, and Uncle 
John had suddenly become an eminently re- 
spectable old gentleman, with very little to criti- 
cise in his appearance. 

“Do I match the flat, now ?” he asked. 


313 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

,;: To a dot!” declared Patsy. ‘‘So come to 
dinner, for it’s ready and waiting, and the Major 
and I have some wonderful fairy tales to tell 
you.” 


314 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


THE MAJOR DEMANDS AN EXPLANATION. 

That was a happy week, indeed. Patsy de- 
voted all her spare time to her lessons, but the 
house itself demanded no little attention. She 
would not let Mary dust the ornaments or ar- 
range the rooms at all, but lovingly performed 
those duties herself, and soon became an ideal 
housekeeper, as Uncle John approvingly re- 
marked. 

And as she flitted from room to room she 
sang such merry songs that it was a delight to 
hear her, and the Major was sure to get home 
from the city in time to listen to the strumming 
of the piano at three o’clock, from the recess of 
his own snug chamber. 

Uncle John went to the city every morning, 
and at first this occasioned no remark. Patsy 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


was too occupied to pay much attention to her 
uncle’s coming and going, and the Major was in- 
different, being busy admiring Patsy’s happi- 
ness and congratulating himself on his own good 
fortune. 

The position at the bank had raised the good 
man’s importance several notches. The clerks 
treated him with fine consideration and the heads 
of the firm were cordial and most pleasant. His 
fine, soldierly figure and kindly, white-mous- 
tached face, conferred a certain dignity upon his 
employers, which they seemed to respect and ap- 
preciate. 

It was on Wednesday that the Major en- 
countered the name of John Merrick on the 
books. The account was an enormous one, run- 
ning into millions in stocks and securities. The 
Major smiled. 

“That’s Uncle John’s name,” he reflected. 
“It would please him to know he had a namesake 
so rich as this one.” 

The next day he noted that John Merrick’s 
holdings were mostly in western canning indus- 
tries and tin-plate factories, and again he recol- 

316 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


lected that Uncle John had once been a tin- 
smith. The connection was rather curious. 

But it was not until Saturday morning that 
the truth dawned upon him, and struck him like 
a blow from a sledge-hammer. 

He had occasion to visit Mr. Marvin’s pri- 
vate office, but being told that the gentleman 
was engaged with an important customer, he 
lingered outside the door, waiting. 

Presently the door was partly opened. 

“Don’t forget to sell two thousand of the 
Continental stock tomorrow,” he heard a familiar 
voice say. 

“I’ll not forget, Mr. Merrick,” answered the 
banker. 

“And buy that property on Bleeker street at 
the price offered. It’s a fair proposition, and I 
need the land.” 

“Very well, Mr. Merrick. Would it not be 
better for me to send these papers by a messenger 
to your house?” 

“No; I’ll take them myself. No one will rob 
me.” And then the door swung open and, chuck- 
ling in his usual whimsical fashion, Uncle John 


3 l 7 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


came out, wearing his salt-and-pepper suit and 
stuffing a bundle of papers into his inside pocket. 

The Major stared at him, haughtily, but 
made no attempt to openly recognize the man. 
Uncle John gave a start, laughed, and then 
walked away briskly, throwing a hasty “good- 
bye” to the obsequious banker, who followed him 
out, bowing low. 

The Major returned to his office with a grave 
face, and sat for the best part of three hours in 
a brown study. Then he took his hat and went 
home. 

Patsy asked anxiously if anything had hap- 
pened, when she saw his face; but the Major 
shook his head. 

Uncle John arrived just in time for dinner, 
in a very genial mood, and he and Patsy kept up 
a lively conversation at the table while the Major 
< looked stern every time he caught the little man’s 
eye. 

But Uncle John never minded. He was not 
even as meek and humble as usual, but laughed 
and chatted with the freedom of a boy just out 
of school, which made Patsy think the new 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


clothes had improved him in more ways than one. 

When dinner was over the Major led them 
into the sitting-room, turned up the lights, and 
then confronted the little man with a determined 
and majestic air. 

“Sir,” said he, “give an account of your- 
self.” 

“Eh?” 

“John Merrick, millionaire and impostor, 
who came into my family under false pretenses 
and won our love and friendship when we didn’t 
know it, give an account of yourself!” 

Patsy laughed. 

“What are you up to, Daddy ?” she demanded. 
“What has Uncle John been doing?” 

“Deceiving us, my dear.” 

“Nonsense,” said Uncle John, lighting his old 
briar pipe, “you’ve been deceiving yourselves.” 

“Didn’t you convey the impression that you 
were poor?” demanded the Major, sternly. 

“No.” 

“Didn’t you let Patsy take away your thirty- 
two dollars and forty-two cents, thinking it was 
all you had ?” 


319 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“Yes” 

“Aren’t you worth millions and millions of 
dollars — so many that you can’t count them your- 
self?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Then, sir,” concluded the Major, mopping 
the perspiration from his forehead and sitting 
down limply in his chair, “what do you mean 
by it?” 

Patsy stood pale and trembling, her round 
eyes fixed upon her uncle’s composed face. 

“Uncle John!” she faltered. 

“Yes, my dear.” 

“Is it all true? Are you so very rich?” 

“Yes, my dear.” 

“And it’s you that gave me this house, and — 
and everything else — and got the Major his fine 
job, and me discharged, and — and — ” 

“Of course, Patsy. Why not?” 

“Oh, Uncle John!” 

She threw herself into his arms, sobbing hap- 
pily as he clasped her little form to his bosom. 
And the Major coughed and blew his nose, and 
muttered unintelligible words into his handker- 


320 



• V 


“ Give an account of yourself 







AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

chief. Then Patsy sprang up and rushed upon 
her father, crying : 

“Oh, Daddy! Aren’t you glad it’s Uncle 
John?” 

I have still to hear his explanation,” said 
the Major. 

Uncle John beamed upon them. Perhaps he 
had never been so happy before in all his life. 

“Pm willing to explain,” he said, lighting his 
pipe again and settling himself in his chair. 
“But my story is a simple one, dear friends, and 
not nearly so wonderful as you may imagine. 
My father had a big family that kept him poor, 
and I was a tinsmith with little work to be had 
in the village where we lived. So I started west, 
working my way from town to town, until I got 
to Portland, Oregon. 

“There was work in plenty there, making the 
tin cans in which salmon and other fish is packed, 
and as I was industrious I soon had a shop of 
my own, and supplied cans to the packers. The 
shop grew to be a great factory, employing hun- 
dreds of men. Then I bought up the factories 
of my competitors, so as to control the market, 


321 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 

and as I used so much tin-plate I became inter- 
ested in the manufacture of this product, and in- 
vested a good deal of money in the production 
and perfection of American tin. My factories 
were now scattered all along the coast, even to 
California, where I made the cans for the great 
quantities of canned fruits they ship from that 
section every year. Of course the business made 
me rich, and I bought real estate with my extra 
money, and doubled my fortune again and 
again. 

“I never married, for all my heart was in the 
business, and I thought of nothing else. But a 
while ago a big consolidation of the canning in- 
dustries was effected, and the active management 
I resigned to other hands, because I had grown 
old, and had too much money already. 

“It was then that I remembered the family, 
and went back quietly to the village where I was 
born. They were all dead or scattered, I found ; 
but because Jane had inherited a fortune in some 
way I discovered where she lived and went to see 
her. I suppose it was because my clothes were 
old and shabby that Jane concluded I was a poor 


322 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


man and needed assistance; and I didn’t take the 
trouble to undeceive her. 

“I also found my three nieces at Elmhurst, 
and it struck me it would be a good time to study 
their characters ; for like Jane I had a fortune to 
leave behind me, and I was curious to find out 
which girl was the most deserving. No one sus- 
pected my disguise. I don’t usually wear such 
poor clothes, you know; but I have grown to be 
careless of dress in the west, and finding that I 
was supposed to be a poor man I clung to that 
old suit like grim death to a grasshopper.” 

“It was very wicked of you,” said Patsy, so- 
berly, from her father’s lap. 

“As it turned out,” continued the little man, 
“Jane’s desire to leave her money to her nieces 
amounted to nothing, for the money wasn’t hers. 
But I must say it was kind of her to put me down 
for five thousand dollars — now, wasn’t it?” 

The Major grinned. 

“And that’s the whole story, my friends. 
After Jane’s death you offered me a home — the 
best you had to give — and I accepted it. I had 
to come to New York anyway, you know, for 


323 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


Isham, Marvin & Co. have been my bankers for 
years, and there was considerable business to 
transact with them. I think that’s all, isn’t it?” 

“Then this house is yours ?” said Patsy, won- 
deringly. 

“No, my dear; the whole block belongs to 
you and here’s the deed for it,” drawing a pack- 
age of papers from his pocket. “It’s a very good 
property, Patsy, and the rents you get from the 
other five flats will be a fortune in themselves.” 

For a time the three sat in silence. Then the 
girl whispered, softly : 

“Why are you so good to me, Uncle John?” 

“Just because I like you, Patsy, and you are 
my niece.” 

“And the other nieces?” 

“Well, I don’t mean they shall wait for my 
death to be made happy,” answered Uncle John. 
“Here’s a paper that gives to Louise’s mother 
the use of a hundred thousand dollars, as long as 
she lives. After that Louise will have the money 
to do as she pleases with.” 

“How fine!” cried Patsy, clapping her hands 
joyfully. 


324 


AUNT JANE’S NIECES. 


“And here’s another paper that gives Profes- 
sor De Graf the use of another hundred thousand. 
Beth is to have it when he dies. She’s a sensible 
girl, and will take good care of it.” 

“Indeed she will!” said Patsy. 

“And now,” said Uncle John, “I want to 
know if I can keep my little room in your apart- 
ments, Patsy; or if you’d prefer me to find an- 
other boarding place.” 

“Your home is here as long as you live. 
Uncle John. I never meant to part with you, 
when I thought you poor, and I’ll not desert you 
now that I know you’re rich.” 

“Well said, Patsy!” cried the Major. 

And Uncle John smiled and kissed the girl 
and then lighted his pipe again, for it had gone 
out. 


325 


ANNABEL 

A Novel for Young Folks 


By SUZANNE METCALF 

Little men and women of today are read- 
ing selected novels with the consent of 
parents. ANNABEL breathes the 
purest thoughts and impulses of a girl 
blossoming into womanhood and portrays 
her gentle influence on the life of a strug- 
gling boy. The love thread has “ no be- 
ginning and no ending,” but its subtle ex- 
istence between the lines appeals to the 
noblest instincts of boy or girl. Parents 
enjoy and recommend this book . 

Dainty cloth binding, with inlaid picture, 
and six splendid duo-tone illustrations by 
H. Putnam Hall. Price, $1.25. 

FOR SALE BY DEALERS EVERYWHERE 
or sent prepaid on receipt of price by 

The Reilly £? Britton Co. 

Publishers - 84 Adams Street - Chicago 


SAM STEELE’S 
ADVENTURES 

ON LAND AND SEA 

BY CAPT. HUGH FITZGERALD 


A Delightful and Thrilling 
Story for Boys 

Sam Steele, the hero, is a typical 
clear headed, shrewd American 
boy who surmounts all obstacles. 

His adventures at sea and in 
the gold fields are of the kind \ 
to electrify the youthful reader. 

Cloth binding with handsome colored picture in- 
laid on front cover. Five illustrations in colors 
by Howard Heath. Price, $1.00. 


FOR SALE BY DEALERS EVERYWHERE 
or sent postpaid on receipt of price by 

The Reilly £? Britton Co. 

Publishers - 84 Adams Street - Chicago 
































r ' 
■ 














































































■ . • 

. 














. 










^ ' ■ V V 

. 














f! V v 

























' 




























’• ; t . ■ 1 ■' I , ' 1 


















































































































* 



















































•» 































■ 
























-I 




































































' 































. 






. 

■ 



. » 

E TOT . • J 













U I 






* 


























































































































. 





' 

, 

1 



























































- 




























■ 



























0QQ2Sti6BH7fc. 



